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SOUTH  MOUNTAIN 
SKETCHES 

Folk  Tales  and  Legends  Collected  in  the 
Mountains    of    Southern     Pennsylvania 

BY 

Henry  W.  Shoemaker 

(Author  of  "North  Mountain  Mementoes",  etc.) 


'Dream  of  the  mountains, 
As  in  their  sleep 
They  brood  on  things  eternal." 


Altoona,  Pennsylvania 
Published  by  Times  Tribune  Company 

1920 

Copyright  :     All  rights  reserved. 


INDEX 

Chapters  Pages 

Introduction  7-  11 

I.  Aunt  Tilly  Henry's  Vision  13-  23 

IT.  There  were  Giants  24-  40 

III.  Love  F>eyond  the  Grave  41-  54 

IV.  Conestoga  55-  (5(5 
V.  The     White     Lady     of  Pomfret 

Castle  67-  80 

VI.  The  Lost  Valley  81-  9(5 

VII.  Whippoorwill's   Shoes  97-10!) 

VIII.  The  Star  of  the  Glen  110-120 

IX.  Ghosts   of    the    Living  121-135 

X.  Fire   for  the  Ghosts  13(5-147 

XL  The    Proof   of    Ossian  148-1(53 

XII.  A   Ghost    Flower  164-175 

XIII.  The  Wolf's  Glen  17(5-18(5 

XIV.  The    I51ue   Girl  187-195 
XV.  The    I'.lack    Cat   at    Peter  Allen's     19(5-212 

XVI.  The  Squaw  Man  213-227 

XVII.  Woodpecker's  Mead  228-238 

XVIII.  The  Timber  Line  239-25? 

XIX.  The  Seal])   i'tounty  258-27 1 

XX.  Mary  Casselman,  Redemptioner         272-287 

XXI.  The  North  Hastion  288-29!) 

XXII.  The    Hunter's    Moon  300-310 

XXIII.  The  Lion's  Garden  311-321 

XXIV.  The    Man    of    Peace  322-332 

715255 


Introduction 

FOR  some  years  the  compiler  of  these  pages  desired 
to  complete  his  researches  into  the  traditional 
history  and  folk-lore  of  the  Pennsylvania  Moun- 
tains in  a  series  of  ten  volumes ;  the  eighth  was  pub- 
lished the  year  before  this  country  entered  the  World 
War ;  the  ninth  was  completed  in  manuscript  form  in 
1917,  but  the  great  conflict  held  up  its  publication  until 
the  present  year,  and  the  tenth  volume  is  only  now 
completed  from  the  notes.  The  compiler's  aim  in  this 
series  has  been  to  comprise  all  the  sections  of  the 
State  where  he  has  made  folk-lore  studies,  and  be- 
lieves that  he  has  accomplished  the  work  as  far  as  it 
lies  in  his  power  to  do  so.  There  are  some  portions  of, 
the  State  where  he  has  done  very  little  collecting — 
along  the  Blue  Mountains  of  Berks,  Schuylkill  and 
Lehigh  Counties,  for  instance — partly  because  his 
knowledge  of  the  "Pennsylvania  Dutch"  vernacular 
was  limited,  but  principally  because  the  late  Judge 
Henning  has  done  this  work  so  admirably.  As  it  is, 
this  ten-volume  series  represents  pretty  much  all  the 
regions  where  folk-lore  abounds,  though  the  chapters 
collected  cannot  be  said  to  be  all  that  could  have  been 
done  with  the  materials  available.  Probably  better 
stories  might  have  been  secured  if  more  time  had  been 
devoted  to  the  quest,  and  it  is  certain  that  had  his  pen 
been  gifted  with  the  fluency  of  an  Irving  or  a  Charles 
Egbert  Craddock,  a  more  immediate  reputation  would 
have  been  established  for  his  labors.  As  it  is.  they  are 
tales  in  the  rough,  the  recitals  of  plain,  untutored  per- 


sons  for  the  most  part,  and  the  writer  has  not  been 
able  or  tried  to  gloss  them  over  with  the  veneer  of  a 
literary  style  and  imagery.  This  he  greatly  regrets,  as 
in  the  previous  volumes.  There  is  one  point  where  his 
literary  limitations  have  proved  of  service :  they  have 
helped  maintain  the  fidelity  of  the  transcribing  of  the 
stories.  On  several  occasions  he  has  read  the  legends 
to  the  persons  who  related  them  to  him,  and  they  have 
confirmed  them  word  for  word.  This  fidelity  to  the 
original  form  of  the  stories  has  been  maintained  even 
to  preserving  sordid  details  and  unhappy  endings,  and 
an  entire  absence  of  those  fine  moral  sequels  so  notice- 
able in  those  finest  of  manufactured  folk-tales,  "Young 
Goodman  Brown,"  or  "Feathertop,"  in  Hawthorne's 
"Mosses  from  an  Old  Manse."  The  compiler  began 
collecting  stories  in  the  South  Mountain  region  in  the 
spring  of  1907,  and  the  last  were  secured  in  the  fall  of 
1919.  Unfortunately  he  was  not  able  to  spend  enough 
time  in  the  South  Mountain  proper,  in  Adams  County, 
to  have  collected  enough  material  to  fill  the  entire  vol- 
ume, but  has  had  to  include  all  legends  originating  in 
the  southern  counties,  the  highlands  of  which  are  given 
by  some  in  the  North  the  generic  term  of  "South 
Mountains."  As  many  of  the  characters  in  the  tales 
connected  with  Fulton,  Bedford  or  Somerset  Counties 
lived  in  the  South  Mountains  proper,  at  one  period  or 
another,  they  can  be  said  to  belong  to  that  region  spe- 
cifically. The  writer  must  state  that  to  his  regret  he 
was  never  once  able  to  take  a  trip  solely  to  collect  folk- 
lore ;  his  visits  have  always  been  on  some  matter  of 
business  or  of  an  official  nature,  and  collecting  tradi- 
tional lore  has  been  a  "side  issue,"  hence  he  has  proba- 
bly only  pricked  the  surface  of  the  field.  As  to  the 


ghost  stories  in  this  and  previous  vdlumes,  many  of 
them  are  in  a  class  by  themselves,  having  been  told  to 
the  writer  by  persons  who  actually  saw  the  ghosts. 
They  have  the  charm  of  directness  and  truth  that  those 
heard  second,  third  or  fourth-hand  lose  in  the  repeti- 
tion. They  are  as  near  to  "real"  ghost  stories  as  are 
possible  to  present.  Many  of  the  chapters  in  this  book 
deal  with  events  connected  with  the  French  and  Indian 
War  and'  the  principal  actors  therein.  This  is  one  of 
the  most  remarkable  and  colorful  phases  of  Pennsyl- 
vania history  and  romance,  and  it  is  not  surprising  that 
so  many  touches  of  it  linger  among  the  old  people  all 
along  the  roads  from  Carlisle  to  the  west  country. 
This  phase  of  traditional  history  should  be  more  fully, 
gone  into,  as  there  must  be  the  plots  for  a  score  of 
good  historical  novels  to  be  had  for  the  asking,  among 
the  coves  and  knobs  adjacent  to  the  Lincoln  Highway, 
the  grand  scenic  route  of  Pennsylvania.  By  leaving 
Columbia  on  the  east  and  traveling  to  Graeffenburg, 
Chambersburg,  Fort  London,  McConnellsburg,  Bed- 
ford. Stoyestown,  and  on  to  Pittsburg,  practically  the 
entire  country  treated  in  this  volume  will  be  spanned. 
Most  of  the  sketches  have  been  collected  near  to  the 
main  arteries  of  travel,  the  Lincoln  Highway  princi- 
pally ;  but  there  is  a  rich  untouched  field  on  the  byways 
that  run  off  from  the  more  traveled  roads.  Imperfect 
as  this  volume  is,  of  which  the  compiler  is  fully  aware, 
for  his  powers  of  expression  have  little  improved  since 
the  first  volume,  "Pennsylvania  Mountain  Stories," 
appeared  thirteen  years  ago,  it  at  least  shows  that  an 
immense  fund  of  folk-lore  exists  in  Southern  Pennsyl- 
vania, and  is  worthy  of  collecting.  Future  generations 
and  historians  will  use  this  folk-lore,  and  it  will  gild 


with  romance  many  a  region  that  commerce  and  man- 
ufacturing has  marred  from  a.  purely  scenic  standpoint. 
It  will  show  that  the  first  settlers  and  the  Indians  lived' 
vividly,  and  were  persons  possessed  of  all  the  hopes 
and  aspirations,  virtues  and  weaknesses  that  later 
generations,  with  wider  advantages,  do  not  possess  to 
a  greater  extent.  It  proves  that  love  and  romance 
outlast  all  other  imprinted  chronicles,  deathless  as  in 
the  lines  of  Alan  Seeger,  are  "the  hours  when  we  have 
loved  and  heen  beloved."  As  in  the  previous  volume', 
the  compiler  strictly  calls  attention  to  the  fact  that  he 
has  changed  the  names  of  persons,  places,  dates,  etc., 
in  order  not  to  give  offense  to  parties  still  living,  or  to 
the  relatives  of  those  recently  deceased,  or  for  other 
reasons  best  known  to  himself.  He  has  all  the  correct 
data  in  his  notes,  and  will  be  pleased  to  reveal  such 
information,  at  his  discretion,  upon  application.  The 
recent  increased  interest  in  spiritism  may  make  the 
true  ghost  stores  in  this  volume  of  interest,  especially 
as  some  of  them  are  of  recent  origin — notably  Chapter 
111,  which  happened  in  1!)  18-1 9 19.  He  is  pleased  at  the 
memories  revived  in  the  South  Mountain  Country, 
which  he  will  call  from  Connellsville  to  the  mouth  of 
the  Conewago,  above  all  sections  of  the  State  where 
he  has  carried  on  his  investigations,  for  he  found  the 
field  the  richest  and  his  informants  more  disposed  to 
co-operate  to  the  fullest  extent.  That  he  did  not  pro- 
duce a  superior  volume,  in  point  of  interest,  rests  with 
his  pen,  not  with  the  mine  of  romance  which  he  was 
fortunate  enough  to  touch.  There  are  many  persons 
whom  he  wishes  to  thank  for  helpfulness ;  about  one 
every  mile  or  so  along  the  Lincoln  Highway,  and  col- 
lectively he  extends  appreciation  and  gratitude.  To 


Miss  Ruth  Hastings  Gehr,  gifted  newspaper  woman 
of  Chambersburg.,  he  expresses  his  thanks  for  securing 
the  illustrations  of  the  South  Mountains  proper,  espe- 
cially the  frontispiece,  showing  the  Conewago.  the 
fairest  stream  in  the  South  Mountain  region,  at  its 
very  best.  There  is  also  due  thanks  to  Lester  W. 
Seylar,  conservationist  and  historian,  of  McConnells- 
burg,  for  supplying  other  most  attractive  illustrations 
which  reveal  the  beauties  of  the  country  along  the 
Lincoln  Highway.  He  also  wishes  to  thank  editors, 
book  sellers,  librarians  and  readers  generally  all  over 
his  beloved  Keystone  Commonwealth  for  their  gen- 
erous recognition  of  his  previous  efforts.  May  the 
years  to  come  enshrine  Pennslvania  as  the  very  foun- 
tain-head of  legendary  lore,  through  some  voice  that 
can  speak  in  tones  that  all  can  understand  and  marvel 
at.  The  compiler  presents  this  the  tenth  attempt  to 
express  the  soul  of  these  wonderful  mountains,  asking 
for  it  no  more  than  the  same  kindly  reception  that  was 
tendered  to  its  predecessors.  The  list  includes  to 
date:  1.  "Pennsylvania  Mountain  Stories,"  1907; 
II.  "More  Pennsylvania  Mountain  Stories,"  1012;  III. 
"The  Indian  Steps,"  1!>12;  IV.  "Tales  of  the  Bald 
Eagle  Mountains,"  1!)12;  V.  "Susquehanna  Legends," 
!!>!;$;  VI.  "In  the  Seven  Mountains,"  1JJ13;  VII. 
"I Hack  Forest  Souvenirs."  1!»14;  VIII.  "Juniata  Mem- 
ories," 1  !)!(>;  IX.  "North  Mountain  Mementoes."  and 
X.  "South  Mountain  Sketches,"  both  published  in 
1!)20.  HENKY  W.  SHOEMAKER. 

AI/POOXA  TIMES  TRIBUNE  OFFICE, 
JAXI-ARV  o,   1«)20. 


I.    Aunt  Tilly  Henry's  Vision 

WE  WERE  waiting  to  make  a  connection  on  one 
of  the  "weak  and  weary"  railroads  that  wan- 
der through  the  South  Mountain  region,  and 
an  hour  and  a  half  had  passed  with  no  signs  of  the 
expected  train.  Evidently  the  local  we  waited  for 
carried  some  bank  president  or  local  political  leader, 
as  the  railroaders  were  not  always  so  patient  and  con- 
siderate. Story-telling  had  been  adopted  by  the  half- 
dozen  passengers  to  pass  away  the  time,  after  every 
newspaper  and  magazine  had  been  read  and  re-read. 
Among  the  anecdotes  related  there  was  one  told  by  a 
woman  which  seemed  to  have  enough  of  the  eerie  and 
supernatural  to  it  to  make  it  worthy  of  recording.  As 
the  relator  was  a  niece  of  the  principal  characters  in 
the  story,  and  had  heard  it  directly  from  them,  it  was 
of  added  value  for  the  records  of  folk-lore.  And 
thus  it  ran  :  "Those  of  you  who  travel  have  all  passed 
through  the  little  hamlet  on  one  of  the  main  branches 
of  the  Pennsylvania  Railroad  called  Hemlock  Station. 
Those  who  have  traveled  long  enough  have  seen  the 
splendid  patch  of  hemlock  trees,  from  which  the  sta- 
tion received  its  name,  dwindle  to  a  single,  scraggy, 
half-dead  trunk,  surrounded  by  the  barkless  skeletons 
of  its  defunct  brothers,  for  as  the  grove  stood  on  rail- 
way property,  no  one  had  authority  to  remove  the  trees 
as  they  died,  and  there  was  no  authority  to  plant  new 
ones.  The  grove  seemed  to  summarize  the  glories  of 
the  little  community,  as  the  handsome  patch  of  hem- 

13 


14  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

locks  faded  with  the  passing  of  the  lumber  business. 
Away  back  in  the  middle  eighties  of  the  last  century 
there  was  no  busier  center  along  that  road  than  Hem- 
lock. Several  large  saw  mills  were  located  there,  and 
there  was  an  active  industry  in  shipping  yellow  pine 
prop  timber  to  the  hard  coal  regions.  There  was,  of 
course,  a  large  floating  population  of  timber  buyers, 
jobbers,  prospectors  and  cruisers  who  overflowed  the 
lumber  camps,  and  brought  a  rich  harvest  to  the  two 
hotels  which  stood  across  the  tracks  from  the  railroad 
station.  These  hotels  were  bleak,  bare  structures, 
built  of  unplaned  and  unpainted  lumber,  devoid  of  all 
architectural  features  except  utility,  and,  oh,  how  for- 
bidding they  looked  on  a  rainy  day,  when  the  water 
poured  off  the  soggy,  curled-shingle,  unspouted  roofs ! 
Unlovely  as  they  were,  the  surroundings  of  moun- 
tains, forests,  fields  and  streams  made  up  for  all  they 
lacked.  There  were  always  some  guests,  who  appa- 
rently had  nothing  to  do  but  to  sit  on  the  porch  and 
steps  at  train  time,  and  give  a  busy',  populous  air  to 
these  flimsy  hostelries. 

When  crews  for  some  of  the  more  distant  lumber 
camps  arrived  at  Hemlock,  they  generally  came  in  a 
body  and  spent  a  night  at  one  of  the  hotels,  where  the 
jobbers  engaged  rooms  in  advance.  Their  coming 
would  give  a  momentary  air  of  excitement  to  the  little 
station,  and  the  jangling  of  the  tin  trunks  and  the 
thud  of  heavy  "grips"  on  the  oaken  platform,  could  be 
heard  a  great  distance.  The  arrival  of  a  new  gang  of 
lumbermen  always  attracted  the  native  population  to 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  15 


the  station,  and  few  stops  along  the  line  could  boast 
of  bigger  crowds  when  the  trains  came  in  at  such  times. 

But  these  were  exceptional  or  gala  clays,  and'  of  very 
short  duration.  Five  minutes  after  the  train  had  de- 
parted every  one  had  gone  about  his  or  her  business, 
and  the  habitual  air  of  calm,  or,  more  properly,  of 
desolation,  pervaded  the  little  station.  There  were 
days  when  not  more  than  a  single  passenger  would 
board  or  alight  from  the  trains ;  no  one  was  surprised, 
as  there  were  dull  times  between  seasons  in  the  lumber 
business.  One  of  these  hotels,  the  larger  of  the  two, 
was  known  as  the  Hotel  Garrett,  and  its  landlord, 
"Uncle  Dave"  Henry,  was  as  genial  a  boniface  as  ;he 
business  could  boast  of.  He  was  a  big,  florid,  jovia! 
man,  a  Civil  War  veteran  and  a  former  woodsman, 
very  matter  of  .fact,  who  never  saw  a  tree  except  to 
mentally  figure  out  how  many  feet  board  measure  it 
contained.  He  was  not  troubling  himself  about  signs 
and  tokens  and  dreams,  vagaries  which  seemed  to 
linger  on  from  former  generations  in  some  of  the 
mountain  folks — even  his  wife.  "Uncle  Dave's"  wife 
was  given  to  seeing  ghosts,  often  dreamed  straight, 
and  sometimes  her  powers  of  divination  were  truly 
marvelous — an  inheritance  of  the  Celtic  ancestors  from 
whom  she  descended. 

( )ne  foggy  morning  in  September — in  chestnut  time 
— she  informed  her  daughter  that  she  had  had  a  very 
peculiar  dream  the  night  before ;  it  was  so  vivid  that  it 
surely  must  be  obeyed  ;  but  how  could  she  impress  her 
matter-of-fact  husband,  who  was  always  accommodat- 


16  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

ing,  and  always  ready  to  pick  up  a  dollar.  Then  she 
proceeded  to  tell  her  story. 

In  the  dream,  she  was  standing  at  the  door  of  the 
hotel  office,  looking  across  the  tracks ;  it  was  after- 
noon, and  the  pale,  yellow  leaves  of  the  chestnut  trees 
in  the  yard  were  falling.  A  shrill  whistle  down  the 
tracks  betokened  the  arrival  of  the  afternoon  train, 
bound  west.  A  passenger  must  be  getting  off,  as  no 
one  seemed  to  be  waiting  on  the  platform,  and  the 
whistle  meant  that  the  train  was  going  to  stop  at  Hem- 
lock. The  train  came  in  and  stopped  and  "Aunt 
Tilly,"  as  the  landlord's  wife  was  called,  waited  until 
the  train  had  passed  on,  to  see  who  got  off,  as  the  plat- 
form was  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  tracks,  and  she 
could  see  a  figure  alighting.  When  the  train  had  gone, 
the  lone  passenger — a  woman — was  standing  between 
the  two  tracks,  and'  stood  there,  gaping  about  as  if  in 
indecision.  Then,  with  very  big  strides,  which  were 
very  tin  feminine,  crossed  the  west-bound  track  and 
strode  in  the  direction  of  the  Hotel  Garrett. 

When  the  woman  came  near,  it  was  apparent  that 
she  was  a  very  masculine-looking  person,  being  of 
large  build,  raw-boned,  rather  rosy  cheeked,  her  hair 
was  cut  short,  and  she  wore  a  black  bonnet,  adorned 
with  small  red  beads  and  pink  roses.  Her  coat  and 
skirt  were  ill-fitting,  her  hands  and  feet  were  very 
large.  Bowing  politely  to  "Aunt  Tilly,"  still  standing 
in  the  doorway,  she  asked  if  the  landlord  was  about, 
that  she  would  like  to  see  ,him  on  a  matter  of  business. 
The  good  landlady  hunted  up  her  husband,  finding  him 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  17 

in  the  barn,  for  he  was  a  great  lover  of  horses  airl 
always  kept  a  spirited  road  team,  and  brought  him  out 
to  meet  the  stranger.  The  visitor  was  not  long  in  ex- 
plaining her  business.  She  had  a  brother  who  was 
lying  at  the  point  of  death  near  the  head  of  Little 
Miller  Run,  some  twenty  miles  north  of  Hemlock, 
and,  as  if  to  prove  the  truth  of  the  assertion,  drew  put 
of  her  coat  pocket  a  crumpled  piece  of  telegraph  paper. 
There  would  be  no  train  from  Jersey  Shore  until  the 
next  morning,  and  she  must  get  to  him  that  night  if 
she  would  see  him  alive.  It  was  a  matter  of  life  and 
death ;  surely  he  would  drive  her  there — she  would 
pay  him  well.  "Uncle  Dave"  did  not  have  to  be  urged ; 
he  said  that  he  was  always  glad  to  accommodate,  and 
if  the  lady  would  take  a  seat  on  the  porch,  he  would 
have  his  team  and  buggy  ready  inside  of  ten  minutes. 
"Aunt  Tilly,"  after  having  heard  this  part  of  the 
conversation,  went  about  her  business,  but  the  kaleido- 
scope of  the  dream  continued.  "Uncle  Dave"  went 
into  the  lobby,  took  down  his  overcoat  and  best  cap 
from  a  hook,  then  went  over  to  the  safe,  which  stood 
by  the  desk.  He  deftly  unlatched  It,  and  added  an- 
other hundred  dollars  to  the  heavy  roll  of  bills  which 
he  always  carried.  He  did  not  notice  all  the  while 
that  a  sinister,  leering  face  was  peering  through  from 
the  porch,  gloating  over  his  preparations.  Then  he 
went  out  through  a  door  back  of  the  bar  to  the  stables 
and  harnessed  his  racy  little  team  of  bays,  Lambert 
and  Knox,  game  little  sons  of  the  old  hero  of  fhe 
county  fair  races,  Lambert  Knox.  Putting  a  cigar  in 


18  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

his  mouth  and  cracking  his  whalebone  whip,  which 
had  his  name  painted  on  it,  he  drove  up  the  alley  al- 
most on  a  gallop  and  swung  around  in  front  of  the 
hotel,  pulling  the  little  team  up  short.  "Aunt  Tilly" 
came  to  the  door  as  the  stranger  was  climbing  in,  and 
he  was  putting  a  buffalo  robe  over  her  knees.  He 
called  to  his  wife,  "I'll  be  back  some  time  towards 
morning."  Then  with  another  snap  of  the  whip  he 
was  off  down  the  hill  towards  the  old  rope  ferry.  The 
stranger  seemed  very  affable,  was  interested  in  every- 
thing, and  was  very  desirous  of  having  pointed  out  all 
the  local  landmarks.  "Old  Forgy,"  the  ferryman,  the 
same  who  gave  his  life  from  overwork  recently  while 
relieving  congestion  at  Lockport  ferry,  after  the 
dastardly  burning  of  the  historic  and  picturesque  old 
covered  wooden  bridge,  cracked  jokes  with  "Uncle 
Dave"  and  his  fare,  and  before  long  the  opposite  bank 
had  been  reached  and  the  team  were  racing  along  to- 
wards the  northern  mountains.  The  sun  had  begun 
to  cast  long  shadows,  and  the  air  was  growing  chilly. 
The  sun  was  obscured  by  the  mountains  as  they  drove 
along  the  dark,  hilly  road  that  skirted  the  waters  of 
Tiadaghton.  The  road  led  up  the  mountain,  here  and 
there  through  patches  of  original  timber,  and  was  all 
but  obscured  in  darkness.  The  sunset  came  and  went 
as  they  drove  higher  into  the  mountain  ;  darkness  fell ; 
it  was  frigid,  and  steam  rose  from  the  horses' 
backs.  The  stranger  was  asking  all  kinds  of  ques- 
tions, which  the  genial  "Uncle  Dave"  delighted  to 
answer;  he  was  happy  and  comfortable,  and  com- 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  19 

pletely  off  his  guard.  It  was  very  dark,  and  the  road 
was  long,  all  was  still  save  for  the  squeaking  of  the 
whiffletrees  and  the  champing  of  the  bits. 

All  this  while  the  stranger  was  getting  ready  for  a 
coup  de  main.  Out  of  that  same  pocket  where  she  had 
drawn  the  crumpled  bit  of  telegraph  paper  came  a 
bludgeon,  which  she  passed  from  her  left  hand  to  her 
right,  which  was  over  the  back  of  the  seat ;  the  buggy 
gave  a  jolt  over  an  uneven  piece  of  road.  It  was  very 
dark.  Oh,  Heavens!  What  was  that?  A  crushing 
blow  fell  on  the  back  of  "Uncle  Dave's"  skull ;  every- 
thing seemed  to  wheel  and  go  sideways,  and  he  knew 
no  more.  Reeling  over  the  dashboard,  he  toppled 
down  among  a  lot  of  rocks  piled  along  the  side  of  the 
road,  and  lay  still.  The  horses  started  to  plunge  and 
rear,  but  the  stranger,  quickly  picking  up  the  lines  and 
the  whip,  stopped  them  and  alighted  not  a  hundred 
feet  beyond  the  dark  form  lying  so  still  by  the  road- 
side. As  soon  as  she  was  on  the  road  she  tossed  the 
reins  back  into  the  buggy,  then  cut  the  horses  a 
couple  of  times  across  the  flanks  and  sent  them  career- 
ing forward  with  the  empty  buggy.  Then  she  ap- 
proached the  silent  form  on  the  pile  of  rocks.  Stoop- 
ing down  she  listened  at  the  heart ;  it  \vas  still.  Tear- 
ing open  the  overcoat  like  a  wildcat  goes  for  a  stag's 
heart,  she  began  searching  the  pockets.  The  huge  roll 
of  bills  were  all  in  one  vest  pocket.  She  counted  it 
out  all  but  fifty  dollars.  She  took  five  hundred  and 
left  him  there  without  further  concern,  even  allowing 
the  gold  watch  and  heavy  chain,  with  its  massive 


20  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

Knight  Templar  fob.  As  she  climbed'  down  the  steep 
face  of  the  mountain,  in  the  direction  of  the  creek,  she 
muttered  to  herself :  "They'll  think  his  team  ran 
away  and  killed  him,  for  no  thief  would  leave  fifty 
dollars  and  a  gold  watch  and  chain/' 

At  the  railroad  tracks  '"she"  stripped  off  "her"  fem- 
inine attire,  turned  down  "her"  trousers,  and  pulled  a 
man's  cap  from  an  inside  pocket.  He  weighted  the 
woman's  suit  and  hat  with  stones  and  sunk  them  in 
the  creek.  Then  he  sat  down  on  a  tie  pile  and  calmly 
waited  for  the  coming  of  a  north-bound  freight. 

So  ran  "Aunt  Tilly's"  vision.  As  she  closed  the  rela- 
tion of  it  she  said  to  her  daughter,  with  emphasis : 
"That  woman  will  arrive  on  the  afternoon  train  today. 
'Uncle  Dave'  must  not  be  allowed  to  take  her  out  at 
any  cost."  The  women  decided  to  tell  the  story  to 
"Uncle  Dave."  but  he  only  laughed  until  his  great 
sides  shook.  "There  won't  be  any  such  person  get  off 
the  train  this  afternoon  ;  stop  your  fooling."  "Yes, 
but  there  will,"  insisted  "Aunt  Tilly,"  "and  you  shan't 
take  that  devil  to  Little  Miller  Run." 

Gradually  the  fog  rolled  away,  and  a  day  as  clear 
and  pensive  as  Indian  summer  ensued.  The  pallid 
leaves  kept  dropping  from  the  gnarled  old  chestnut 
trees.  Groups  of  children  were  seen  trooping  towards 
the  woods  to  gather  nuts,  for  it  was  on  Saturday  and 
there  was  no  school.  "Aunt  Tilly"  Henry  was  stand- 
ing by  the  doorway  of  the  Hotel  Garrett,  just  as  in  the 
vision,  when  she  heard  the  afternoon  train  whistling; 
it  was  going  to  stop  at  Hemlock  Station ;  a  passenger 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  21 

must  be  getting  off,  for  no  one  was  on  the  platform, 
except  the  agent  who  came  out  in  his  shirtsleeves  to 
give  some  messages  to  the  engineer.  The  train  slowed 
down  and  stopped.  "Aunt  Tilly"  could  see  one  pas- 
senger, apparently  a  woman,  getting  off  on  the  oppo- 
site side.  The  train  moved  on,  and  the  figure  stoo  1 
between  the  tracks,  looking  about,  as  if  uncertain  as  to 
whether  to  go  to  the  Hotel  Garrett  or  the  Black  Horse 
further  down.  She  was  an  ungainly  creature,  her 
chip  bonnet  was  too  small,  her  coarse  black  hair  was 
cut  short,  her  suit  was  several  sizes  too  large,  and  n?r 
shoes  were  brogans  such  as  a  workingman  would  wear. 
Finally,  with  great  strides,  she  advanced  towards  the 
Hotel  Garrett.  to  where  "Aunt  Tilly"  stood.  Nodding 
obsequiously  she  asked  for  the  landlord,  stating  that 
she  had  some  business  with  him,  just  as  in  "Aunt 
Tilly's"  vision.  "I  don't  think  he  is  at  home,"  said 
"Aunt  Tilly,"  resolutely,  for  she  was  relying  on  her 
daughter,  who  was  watching  inside  to  keep  "Uncle 
Dave"  occupied  should  he  come  through  from  the 
stable  before  the  unwelcome  stranger  had  been  dis- 
pensed with.  "I  must  see  him,"  said  the  woman,  "and 
I'll  sit  down  and  wait  until  he  comes."  "Uncle  Dave," 
out  in  the  stable,  had  practically  finished  blackening  his 
best  harness  when  he  heard  the  afternoon  train  come 
in.  Usually  it  would  not  have  aroused  his  curiosity 
very  greatly,  as  his  house  was  full,  and  his  wife  always 
handled  would-be  guests  admirably.  But  on  this  occa- 
sion he  was  anxious  to  sally  forth  and  explode  his 
wife's  silly  dream  or  "vision."  He  came  through  the 


22  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

bar  into  the  lobby,  where  his  daughter  awaited  him, 
and  she  asked  for  some  money,  and  began  talking 
about  all  manner  of  subjects  while  he  counted  it  out. 
He  refused  to  be  interested,  and  as  she  could  not  de- 
tain him,  he  brushed  by  her,  and  stood  in  the  doorway 
back  of  his  wife,  who  was  arguing  with  the  ill-favored 
stranger.  The  woman  seemed  to  recognize  him  in- 
stantly. "I'm  in  a  lot  of  trouble,"  she  said.  "I  have  a 
brother  at  the  point  of  death  up  on  Little  Miller  Run. 
There  are  no  trains  until  tomorrow.  I  want  you  to 
take  me  there  tonight.  You  will  be  well  paid."  All 
the  while  she  was  fumbling  in  her  coat  pocket,  finally 
pulling  out  a  crumpled  piece  of  telegraph  paper. 

"Of  course  I'll  accommodate  you."  said  "Uncle 
Dave."  "That's  what  I'm  here  for.  I'll  have  the  team 
harnessed  in  ten  minutes." 

But  here  ''Aunt  Tilly"  interposed.  "You  won't  do 
anything  of  the  kind.  I  know  this  woman,  or  what- 
ever she  is,  and  you'll  not  take  her  a  step." 

"But  I  will,"  expostulated  "Uncle  Dave,"  growing  a 
little  hot. 

"If  you  do,  I'll  harness  my  o\vn  horse,  and  my 
brother  Richie  and  I  will  follow  close  behind  you  and 
both  of  us  will  carry  six-shooters." 

"That's  no  way  to  talk  before  a  lady  who  is  in  dis- 
tress," said  "Uncle  Dave,"  in  conciliatory  tones  ;  but 
his  wife  and  daughter  crowded  about  him  and  grad- 
ually edged  him  further  indoors.  Out  of  hearing, 
"Aunt  Tilly"  said : 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


23 


''Dave,  you  arc  a  fool  to  go  against  my  vision,  when 
I  always  dream  straight.  Did  you  see  that  devil's  feet, 
and  not  be  convinced  she's  no  woman?  I'll  not  have 
you  lying  dead  on  the  rocks  above  Little  Miller  Run." 

They  argued  for  several  minutes,  and  "Uncle  Dave," 
more  laughingly  incredulous  than  mad,  forced  his  way 
back  to  the  doorway.  The  stranger  had  gone,  was 
nowhere  to  be  seen.  "Uncle  Dave"  went  out,  followed 
by  his  wife  and  daughter,  and  walked  around  the 
house,  looked  up  and  down  the  roads  and  over  to  the 
station,  but  the  wierd  visitant  had  vanished.  They 
asked  the  agent,  the  genial  Billy  Campbell.  He  had 
seen  the  woman  alight  from  the  train,  but  had  not  seen 
her  since.  "I  believe  that  we  have  all  been  dreaming." 
said  "Uncle  Dave,"  as  he  recovered  his  composure  and 
re-entered  the  hotel. 


II.    There  Were  Giants 

NOT  long  ago  the  writer  received  from  W.  B.  Van 
•Ingen,  the  world-famous  mural  painter,  and  a 
native  Pennsylvanian,  the  pertinent  query  if  in 
any  of  his  investigations  into  Pennsylvania  folk-lore 
he  had  found  the  record  of  giants.  It  was  his  reply 
that  in  several  instances  giants  were  mentioned  in  our 
history,  and  these,  as  time  goes  on,  will  be  found  as 
the  Titans  of  the  mountain  legends  of  the  Keystone 
State.  In  particular,  t\vo  Indian  giants  were  alluded 
to — Long  John,  probably  a  Shawnee,  who  hardly  sur- 
vived to  the  nineteenth  century,  was  very  promi- 
nent in  the  South  Mountain  region  and  along  the  Con- 
adogwinet  and  lower  \vaters  of  the  Juniata,  and  is 
buried  at  Herold's  School  House,  Snyder  County; 
and  Big  John,  possibly  a  Cayuga,  and  some  relation  to 
the  noted  Indian  brothers,  James  Logan,  John  Logan 
and  John  Petty  Shikellamy  (all  three  sons  of  Chief 
Shikellamy),  and  who  figured  in  Centre  County,  more 
particularly  on  the  main  chain  of  the  Allegheny  Moun- 
tains. There  is  a  record  of  his  selling  furs  to  Henry 
Philips,  the  founder  of  Philipsburg,  as  late  as  1790, 
together  with  Big  John's  brother,  Little  John,  Captain 
Logan  and  Lady  Logan.  Big  John  is  buried  in  the  old 
Presbyterian  churchyard  at  Jacksonville  (Centre 
County).  Then  there  was  a  white  giant,  said  to  be 
eight  feet  tall,  who  lived  in  the  South  Mountains  in  the 
vicinity  of  Mont  Alto,  and  who  is  described  by  Walter 
P.  Taylor,  a  young  writer,  in  a  fine  contribution  to 

24 


A  Forest  Path 
Near 

Graeffenburg 


!J,     There  Wen, 


I 

disl  Jaaiol  A 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  25 

local  folk-lore,  called  "The  Giant."  Long  John  was 
seven  feet  tall,  and  the  writer  has  laid  on  the  grave  of 
Big  John,  which  was  at  least  two  feet  longer  than  the 
scribe's  five  feet  eight  in  his  shoes.  Both  Indians  rest 
in  unmarked  but  not  unknown  graves,  where  the  grass 
grows  tall  in  summer  and  is  waved  by  the  wind,  in 
time  to  the  melody  of  giant  pines .  if  it  were  not  for 
the  two  distinct  graves,  and  the  dissimilarity  of  his- 
torical events,  these  two  collossal  redmen  might  be- 
come confused  in  history  and  tradition,  for  there  is 
always  a  strange  mercurial  coalescence  of  names  that 
defies  the  careful  student  of  personality ;  apart  from 
two  persons  of  similar  names  flourishing  at  the  same 
time,  those  of  the  same  names  are  associated  together 
generation  after  generation,  through  some  unknown 
affinity  of  nomenclature.  Long  John  was  dead  and 
gone  as  Big  John  became  really  a  noteworthy  figure, 
but  it  would  be  better  for  future  generations  if  histor- 
ical societies  would  mark  their  graves,  telling  clearly 
who  they  were. 

The  career  of.  Long  John  has  been  studied  by  Pro- 
fessor Moyer,  and  he  does  not  give  the  big  redman  a 
very  good  report.  He  regards  the  giant  Shawnee  as  a 
renegade  and  spy  for  the  scalp  hunters,  Peter  and 
Michael  Grove  and  Peter  Pentz,  and  as  a  thoroughly 
mercenary  character.  Be  that  as  it  may,  there  was 
undoubtedly  a  time  in  Long  John's  life  when  he  was 
pure  of  heart,  and  as  lofty  motives  as  could  stir  the 
heart  of  a  dweller  in  the  forest  were  his,  before  the 
injustices  of  the  white  men  and  some  of  his  own  breth- 


26 SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

ren  made  him  feel  that  he  did  not  care  what  happened 
as  long  as  he  could  secure  enough  money  for  liquor 
and  indulge  in  periodical  debauches.  Of  course,  Pro- 
fessor Moyer  may  have  drawn  too  dark  a  picture ;  a 
descendant  of  the  Paxton  boys  can  hardly  overcome  a 
bias  against  Indians,  but  from  the  tragic  occurrences 
that  marred  Long  John's  life  it  may  be  assumed  that 
he  had  plenty  of  provocation,  if  one  understands  the 
Indian  character. 

Long  John  lived,  in  his  early  manhood,  at  the  In- 
dian town  at  the  mouth  of  the  Conadogwinet.  where 
he  was  noted  as  a  fleet  runner  and  a  skillful  archer. 
He  attained  the  great  height  of  seven  feet  when  he 
was  sixteen  years  of  age,  and  would  probably  have 
grown  taller,  only  his  mother,  becoming  anxious,  trav- 
eled into  the  South  Mountains  to  consult  a  famous 
wise  woman,  who  put  a  spell  on  the  youth,  thereby 
stopping  his  growth.  Instead,  he  began  to  fill  out, 
and  grew  into  superb  proportions,  not  too  stout  nor 
too  lean,  but  of  powerful  and  athletic  build.  Owing 
to  the  lack  of  height  of  many  doors  Jie  became  what 
the  mountain  people  call  today  "jukey,"  which  detract- 
ed somewhat  from  the  majesty  of  his  appearance.  He 
was  a  boy  at  the  time  that  Black  Jack,  "The  Wild 
Hunter  of  the  Juniata."  unsuccessfully  offered  his 
company  of  scouts  to  General  Braddock,  among  their 
number  being  John  Penn.  a  few  years  later  Governor 
of  Pennsylvania,  who  sought  surcease  of  sorrow  after 
his  enforced  separation  from  his  first  wife,  the 
lowly-born  Maria  Cox,  in  the  thrilling  life  of 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  27 

the  frontier.  However,  Long  John  marched  with 
Forbes  and  l>ouquct  to  Fort  Duquesne  in  1758, 
that  year  at  least  being  a  regularly  enrolled  member  of 
the  Colonial  forces,  serving  with  the  Pennsylvania 
Riflemen.  He  did  not  return  east  after  the  capture 
of  the  fort,  and  was  in  the  western  country  until  after 
Colonel  Bouquet's  expedition  of  1T(U,  when  he  accom- 
panied that  gallant  leader  back  to  Carlisle.  After  that 
he  became  associated  with  the  border  scouts  and  Ran- 
gers, and  it  is  alleged  in  some  capacity  was  connected 
with  the  payments  of  the  scalp  bounty.  After  the 
close  of  the  Revolutionary  War  he  became  very  friend- 
ly with  the  whites,  living  amongst  them,  and  was  a 
familiar  figure  at  butchering  time  all  through  what  is 
now  Snyder  and  Perry  Counties.  His  keen  sense  of 
humor  and  witty  sallies  made  him  very  popular  with 
the  Dutch  farmers  whose  own  brand  of  humor  more 
closely  resembled  the  Jewish  than  any  other.  Inas- 
much as  the  entire  upper  section  of  Berks  County 
swarmed  with  Jews  at  an  early  day,  those  who  did 
not  have  the  blood  of  the  chosen  people  in  their  veins 
absorbed  their  attitudes  of  life  through  close  associa- 
tion. There  is  a  patriarchal  cast  of  countenance  to 
the  Dutch  farmer  of  Pennsylvania  that  is  inexplicable 
in  any  way  except  by  the  admixture  of  Jewish  blood. 
The  early  Jews  of  lierks  County  always  believed  that 
the  Indians  were  the  lost  tribe  of  Israel,  consequently 
felt  towards  them  a  fraternal  interest  that  was  always 
tolerant  and  kindly.  A  gathering  of  Pennsylvania 


28  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

Dutch  farmers  at  a  vendue  could  easily  pass  for  some 
gala  day  in  a  Ghetto. 

Near  the  mouth  of  the  Juniata  a  frontiersman  named 
Christian  Hay  settled  about  1753,  where  he  occupied 
some  abandoned  Indian  fields.  He  had  previously 
lived  in  York  County,  where  he  was  one  of  a  number 
of  wifeless  pioneers  who  helped  to  absorb  the  Indian 
colony  at  Turkey  Bottom.  His  absorption  consisted  of 
marrying  a  comely  Indian  girl,  and  when  he  moved  to 
the  Juniata  country  they  had  already  four  or  five 
children.  The  eldest  was  a  girl  named  Hester,  who 
was  sixteen  years  of  age  at  the  time  Long  John  con- 
nected himself  with  Forbes'  army.  On  one  of  his 
hunting  trips  the  big  Indian  became  acquainted  with 
Hay.  They  were  both  out  after  buffaloes,  which  the 
white  man  had  learned  to  hunt  in  York  County.  It  may 
be  well  to  note  that  the  last  bison  in  that  section  was 
not  killed  until  1U>0,  when  Billy  Patterson,  known  as 
" Buffalo  Bill,"  killed  a  stray  buffalo  near  Abbotts- 
town.  After  his  hunt  with  Long  John,  Hay  invited 
the  towering  young  Nimrod  to  take  dinner  at  his  spa- 
cious log  house.  It  was  there  that  Long  John  first  saw 
Hester  and  became  deeply  enamored  of  her.  As  he  was 
tall,  so  she  was  short,  not  being  over  five  feet  one  or 
two  inches  in  height  and  slimly  made.  Her  complex- 
ion was  a  brown  pinkish,  or  dusky,  her  eyes  a  dark 
gray,  her  nose  somewhat  aquiline,  her  cheekbones  high, 
her  mouth  very  beautiful  and  very  red.  She  combined 
in  her  small  person  the  best  of  the  physical  attractions 
of  both  races,  and  was  of  a  degree  of  intelligence 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  29 

superior  not  only  to  her  mother,  but  of  her  father,  evi- 
dently a  reversion  to  some  excellent  ancestor,  as  the 
name  of  Hay  might  indicate.  Hester  seemed  to  recip- 
rocate the  giant  Shawnee's  interest,  and  they  spent 
much  time  together,  she  carrying  his  quiver  of  arrows 
when  he  hunted,  or  his  spears  when  he  gigged  for  eels 
or  shad.  "No  one  can  bring  down  more  game  with  an 
Incha-pile  than  Long  John,"  the  hardy  pioneers  would 
say,  as  every  evening  he  would  return  laden  with  the 
choicest  products  of  the  forest.  His  skill  was  so  un- 
erring as  to  be  uncanny. 

It  was  in  the  very  midst  of  this  blissful  period  that 
Major  Agmondesham,  a  young  Irish  officer,  appeared 
on  the  scene  with  a  squad  of  non-commissioned  offi- 
cers and  orderlies,  in  search  for  recruits  for  the  Rifle- 
men. He  had,  in  addition,  two  experienced  frontiers- 
men and  expert  rifle  shots,  Adam  Moderwell  and 
Richard  Dougherty,  to  act  as  liaison  between  the  hardy 
men  of  the  frontier  and  his  traveling  recruiting  bu- 
reau. Major  Agmondesham  had  been  told  of  Long 
John's  expert  skill  with  the  rifle  and  made  the  trip  to 
Hay's  Fields,  as  the  farm  was  called,  to  endeavor  to 
enlist  him.  Indians  were  only  taken  as  scouts  or 
advance  guards,  but  the  demeanor  of  this  young  red- 
man  was  said  to  be  so  pleasing  that  he  was  considered 
eligible  for  the  ranks.  He  gave  some  marvelous  exhi- 
bitions with  the  rifle  as  well  as  the  bow  and  lance  while 
the  Major  and  party  were  quartered  at  Hay's  Fields, 
and  it  was  with  great  regret  that  the  Major  could  not 
induce  him  to  join  up  either  as  a  soldier  or  a  scout 


30  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

The  truth  was,  he  aspired  to  marry  Hester  in  the  fall, 
and  saw  no  charms  in  a  distant  campaign.  Major  Ag- 
mondesham  was  quickly  smitten  by  the  charms  of  the 
half-breed  maiden.  No  matter  how  deep  Long  John's 
passion  was,  he  quickly  conceived  such  an  admiration 
for  the  person  and  manners  of  the  Major  that  he  tact- 
fully withdrew,  without  the  officer  ever  suspecting  that 
the  genial  redman  had  possessed  similar  intentions. 
The  Major  forgot  about  his  recruiting  mission,  for 
lie  was  only  twenty-four — family  influence  alone  was 
responsible  for  his  high  rank — -and  tarried  to  make 
love,  while  the  two  frontiersmen,  Moderwell  and 
Dougherty,  were  sent  to  range  about  the  country  to 
enlist  superior  riflemen,  on  the  promise  of  active  ser- 
vice, and  much  booty  to  be  taken  from  the  French. 
The  Major's  attentions  to  Hester  consisted  of  strolls 
along  the  river,  canoe  rides  by  moonlight,  as  well  as 
other  meetings  in  divers  romantic  spots.  As  this  was 
the  lirst  young  girl  he  had  spoken  to  since  landing  in 
Philadelphia,  his  ardor  from  long  suppression  was 
hard  to  control.  It  soon  transpired  to  Long  John,  if 
not  so  soon  to  the  Major,  that  Hester  was  in  love  with 
neither,  but  with  another  Major,  one  Hector  Thrale. 
of  the  Highlanders,  who  had  been  through  that  region 
on  a  survey  for  a  military  road  from  Harris'  Ferry 
to  the  West,  and  going  and  coming  had  managed  to 
spend  several  weeks  with  the  Hay  family.  It  may 
have  been  an  imprudent  thing  to  do,  but  Major  Ag- 
mondesham  could  no  longer  restrain  his  emotion,  and 
on  one  of  the  clearest  of  the  moonlight  nights,  as  they 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  31 


sat  on  a  bench  overlooking  the  Juniata,  he  asked  Hester 
to  marry  him.  The  girl  was  greatly  taken  aback,  and, 
realizing  that  she  had  unintentionally  led  her  distin- 
guished lover  on,  could  hardly  find  words  to  grace- 
fully explain  that  she  was  in  love  with  the  absent 
Highlander.  Major  Agmondesham  had  never  heard  of 
this  officer  before,  but  took  the  situation  philosophi- 
cally ;  in  fact,  he  was  relieved  to  be  rejected,  as  it 
would  have  been  a  mad-cap  marriage.  At  the  same 
time  he  felt  greatly  depressed,  and  after  parting  from 
Hester  walked  slowly  along  the  river  bank.  He  soon 
saw  a  canoe  containing  Long  John,  who  had  been 
spearing  salmon  by  the  light  of  the  moon,  and  hailed 
him,  asking  him  to  take  him  for  a  ride  over  the  phos- 
phorescent waters,  as  far  as  what  is  now  Haldeman's 
Island  and  back.  The  Indian  was  glad  to  accommo- 
date him,  and,  under  the  influence  of  the  unearthly 
beauty  of  the  scene,  the  sentimental  Major  told  of  his 
evening's  misadventure.  The  Indian's  eyes  blazed 
with  anger,  as  he  listened  to  the  recital,  but  he  was 
silent  until  the  officer  finished. 

"I  too  have  loved  Hester,  sir,"  he  said.  "I  with- 
drew when  I  saw  you  cared  for  her,  and  I  did  not  even 
want  you  to  know  I  had  admired  her,  so  fearful  was  I 
that  it  might  detract  from  your  high  opinion  of  her. 
Little  did  I  know  that  the  girl  loved  Major  Thrale,  of 
the  Highland  Regiment,  for  she  never  mentioned  him 
to  me.  I  know  this  much :  he  has  no  right  to  love  her, 
because  he  is  engaged  to  be  married  to  Rosamond 
Yeates,  the  most  beautiful  girl  at  Lancaster.  The  son 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


of  a  —  — ,  please  pardon  me,  sir,  for  this  language,  but 
my  heart  overflows.  He  had  no  right  to  trifle  with 
the  heart  of  Hester  Hay." 

It  so  happened  that  Long  John  had  promised  to  join 
> another  surveying  party  headed  by  the  Highlander  at 
Harris'  Ferry,  but  because  of  his  interest  in  Major 
Agmondesham  had  given  up  the  idea  and  remained  at 
Hay's  Fields.  A  sudden  thought  flashed  through 
his  mind  as  he  beached'  the  canoe  on  the  moon-bathed 
shore.  He  did  not  go  to  his  lean-to  of  hemlock  boughs, 
but  after  the  Major  was  safely  indoors  he  re-entered 
his  canoe  and  pointed  for  the  Susquehanna,  and 
down  stream.  He  was  at  the  Indian  camp,  across  the 
river  from  the  Ferry,  early  the  next  morning,  and 
making  inquiries  of  his  friends.  Some  of  his  com- 
panions had  gone  down  the  river  to  convoy  Major 
Thrale,  who  was  to  be  the  guest  of  John  Harris  and 
his  family  that  night,  and  would  probably  start  on  his 
trip  to  locate  another  proposed'  military  road  the  next 
morning,  this  one  to  cross  the  Kittochtinny  Mountains 
near  Carlisle.  Long  John  re-entered  his  canoe  and 
rapidly  traveled  up  stream,  gradually  veering  to  the 
east  bank,  ran  ashore  under  the  hanging  branches  of 
some  giant  red  birches  near  Esthertown.  Meanwhile, 
Major  Agmondesham  had  passed  a  sleepless  night; 
fate  had  been  kind  in  extricating  him  from  an  impos- 
sible alliance,  he  realized,  yet  he  hated  the  thought  of 
two  worthy  women  deceived — the  Lancaster  belle  and 
the  half-breed  beauty.  He  would  have  left  Hay's 
Fields  in  the  morning  only  he  had  promised  Hester  to 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  33 

accompany  her  to  a  ball  at  Peter  Allen's  Trading 
House  across  the  river ;  she  had  never  attended 
one  of  these  exclusive  functions  in  the  big  stone 
structure,  and  it  was  his  delight  to  invite  her. 
He  had  planned  to  make  known  his  love  in  the 
canoe  on  the  way  back  from  the  ball,  where  he  knew 
that  Hester  would  be  the  reigning  belle,  but  now 
all  was  changed,  and  it  might  be  a  most  embarrassing 
evening.  He  therefore  invited  her  mother,  who  \vas  a 
very  young-looking  and  handsome  woman,  to  accom- 
pany them,  as  presumably  she  knew  nothing  of  the 
previous  evening's  unpleasantness.  They  attended  the 
ball,  where  Hester  and  her  mother  were  much  admired 
and  where  they  mingled  with  the  elite  of  the  frontier 
people.  Among  those  present  was  the  beautiful  Maria 
Cox,  the  erstwhile  wife  of  John  Penn,  who  had  fol- 
lowed him  to  America,  only  to  be  again  cast  adrift 
through  the  machinations  of  his  aristocratic  relatives. 
Everything  passed  off  smoothly  and  without  untoward 
incident.  Several  days  later  Major  Agmondesham 
and  his  party  resumed  their  journey  in  the  direction 
of  Pom  fret  Castle. 

Long  John,  during  his  canoe  trip,  had  looked  fre- 
quently to  make  sure  that  Major  Thrale  had  not  ar- 
rived, and  he  now  walked  along  the  beach,  skulking 
behind  trees  and  vines,  but  still  keeping  a  short  lookout 
down  stream.  There  was  a  great  red  birch,  hollow  at 
the  fork,  into  which  he  climbed,  and  with  his  swarthy 
head  about  the  same  brown  color  as  the  bark,  the  only 
part  of  him  visible  much  like  a  huddled  owl,  he 


34  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

watched  patiently  all  day  long,  far  into  the  long  July 
evening.  Just  at  sunset  the  convoy  of  canoes  appeared 
in  sight.  There  were  thirteen  boats  in  this  miniature 
fleet.  They  stopped  at  the  landing  in  front  of  Harris' 
stockade,  the  elegant  Major  in  his  scarlet  regimentals 
being  the  first  to  step  ashore.  Here  he  was  warmly 
greeted  by  the  famous  trader  and  his  wife,  and  es- 
corted to  the  great  log  house.  Long  John  knew  that 
the  hour  of  fate  was  approaching.  He  climbed  out  of 
the  old  tree,  and,  like  one  of  the  long  shadows  re- 
leased by  evening,  stealthily  made  his  way  along  the 
beach.  It  was  dark  when  he  came  in  front  of  the 
stockade,  which  was,  as  usual,  chained  on  the  inside 
to  keep  away  marauding  Indians  or  stray  wolves.  It 
was  sixteen  feet  high,  built  of  straight  white  oak  logs, 
sharpened  at  the  tops,  but  it  was  an  affair  of  a  mo- 
ment for  the  gigantic  redman  to  '"chin  himself"  on  it, 
and  reach  down  with  his  simian-like  arms  and  unbolt 
the  cumbersome  hasp.  He  then  walked  through  the 
entrance  like  an  invited  guest,  quietly  closing  but  not 
chaining  the  heavy  oaken  gate.  Lights  were  glowing 
from  the  loop-holes  of  the  long  house ;  evidently  the 
distinguished  guest  was  being  entertained  at  dinner. 
Walking  carefully  lest  "crows'  feet"  or  caltraps  be 
strewn  about,  he  approached  the  loop-hole  from  which 
the  most  light  was  streaming  athwart  the  summer 
night.  Stooping  over,  he  peered  within.  The  scene 
was  one  that  he  never  forgot.  At  the  head  of  an  oval 
table  sat  John  Harris  himself,  in  his  best  plum-colored 
evening  coat ;  opposite  sat  his  young  Quaker  wife,  clad 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  35 

in  grey  satin,  while  at  her  right,  and  facing  the  loop- 
hole, was  Major  Thrale,  of  the  Highland  Regiment, 
resplendent  in  scarlet  coat,  gold  lace  and  decorations. 
H!e  was  a  black-haired,  lean-faced  man,  very  sallow, 
with  an  enormous  beak  nose  and  a  small  black  mus- 
tache, a  souvenir  of  his  continental  service ;  his  deep- 
set  eyes  were  small,  black  and  furtive,  and  he  looked 
to  be  about  thirty  years  of  age.  He  was  evidently 
trying  to  make  an  impression  on  the  Harrises  for  some 
reason.  It  might  have  been,  Long  John  thought,  be- 
cause Mrs.  Harris  was  related  to  the  heiress  to  whom 
the  Major  was  betrothed,  and  the  Harrises,  in  turn,, 
looked  upon  him  as  a  great  Continental  military  hero. 
At  any  rate,  the  display  of  plate  was  a  remarkable  one 
for  the  frontier,  and  the  silver,  many-branched  candel- 
abra at  the  centre  of  the  table  was  beautiful  to  behold. 
Indian  serving  men  stood  behind  the  chairs  of  master, 
mistress  and  guest.  Taking  aim  at  Major  Thrale's 
heart.  Long  John  pulled  the  trigger  of  his  long  rifle. 
He  was  unerring ;  in  a  moment  the  proud  military  hero 
would  be  weltering  in  blood  and  that  placid  dining 
room  all  consternation.  The  Mint  lock  missed,  but 
there  was  an  ominous  ''click."  The  alert  ear  of  John 
Harris'  Quaker  wife  was  used  to  such  sounds.  With- 
out a  word  she  leaned  over  the  small  table  and  blew  out 
the  lights  with  one  great  gust  of  her  pretty  lips.  Then 
all  was  confusion,  but  principally  out  of  doors,  where 
the  huge  Indian  needed  all  of  his  cunning  and  speed  to 
make  his  escape.  A  search  was  made,  which  kept  up 
all  night ;  dogs  were  loosed,  but  Long  John  was  in  his 


36  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

canoe  and  hurrying  up  the  river  before  the  searchers 
were  within  miles  of  him. 

The  disappearance  of  Long  John,  who  did  not  re- 
turn to  Hay's  Fields,  created  some  little  surprise  and 
talk,  but  as  far  as  Hester  was  concerned  she  soon  had 
cause  for  rejoicing,  as  Major  Thrale  put  in  an  appear- 
ance, and  prepared  to  pitch  his  camp  for  an  extended 
stay  in  the  neighborhood.  However,  in  the  very  out- 
set of  his  enjoyment  he  received  word  to  join  the 
colors  immediately  at  Carlisle,  which  was  disconcert- 
ing. Long  John  managed  to  intercept  Major  Agmon- 
desham  somewhere  in  the  wilderness,  and  enlisted  in 
the  Riflemen.  He  was  in  Agmondesham's  battalion 
when  the  various  forces  for  the  conquest  of  Fort  Du- 
quesne  assembled  at  a  general  encampment  at  Loyal- 
hanna,  Royal  Americans,  Highlanders,  Virginians  and 
Pennsylvanians.  During  the  encampment  both  Major 
Agmondesham  and  Long  John  had  several  occasions 
to  see  Major  Thrale,  but  they  naturally  were  in  no 
positions  to  exchange  opinions  on  the  subject. 

One  day  Long  John  met  the  Indian  scout  Joshua 
(whose  body  was  found  on  the  King's  Stool  a  few 
years  later),  who  told  him  that  Major  Thrale  was 
married  to  Hester,  and  had  her  with  him  in  care  of  a 
sutler's  family  in  the  rear.  Long  John  might  have 
conveyed  this  information  to  his  Major,  but  did  not 
care  to  offend  his  feelings.  It  made  his  blood  boil  as 
he  was  told  that  no  real  marriage  had  taken  place,  and 
felt  that  the  girl  was  a  dupe  of  an  adventurer. 


View  from 

I 
Piney  Mountain  Fire 

j 
Tower — Winter  j 


SOUTH  MOt-NTAJN 

hurrying  up  the  n\er 
i"  ;nilcs  '..'!'  him 


j 

T 


wsiV 

nijBJnuoM 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  37 

When  the  detachment  under  Major  Grant  and 
Major  Lewis  moved  forward,  Thrale  was  with  them, 
and'  Long  John  was  selected  to  be  one  of  the  scouts  to 
lead  the  party.  History  tells  how  they  defied  their 
Indian  advisors  and  marched  into  ambush  with  bag- 
pipes playing;  the  general  inefficiency  of  the  officers 
alone  absolved  them  from  the  charge  of  cowardice. 
Most  of  them  turned  and  ran  like  dogs,  but  the 
despised  Major  Thrale  stood  his  ground,  resolved  to 
die  facing  the  enemy.  Long  John  met  him  holding  a 
position  all  by  himself,  piles  of  dead  Highlanders  sur- 
rounding him,  but  even  this  spectacle  did  not  alter  his 
stern  resolve.  Creeping  up  behind  the  embattled  offi- 
cer he  struck  him  a  violent  blow  with  a  "dornoch,"  as 
the  mountain  people  call  a  round  stone  about  the  size 
of  a  cannon  ball,  and  the  red-coated  warrior  doubled 
up  like  a  jack-knife  and  fell  back  among  his  dead  and 
dying  henchmen.  Long  John  crawled  on  his  chest  and 
looked  him  in  the  eyes.  "You  damn  son  of  a  —  — ,"  he 
hissed.  "I  called  you  that  behind  your  back,  and  now 
I  Ming  it  into  your  teeth,  you  damn  yellow  bastard.  I 
tried  to  kill  you  at  John  Harris',  but  my  rifle  missed 
fire ;  you  will  not  escape  me  now."  The  half-dazed 
Highlander  spluttered:  "Fellow,  I  say,  what  have  I 
ever  done  to  you?"  "Done  to  me,  swine?  You  have 
done  everything.  You  won  the  love  of  the  finest  girl 
in  the  world,  the  only  one  I  will  ever  love,  when  you 
were  promised  to  another,  and  you  brought  her  to 
Loyalhanna,  tricked  by  a  faulty  marriage.  I'll  scalp 
you  like  the  dirty  skunk  you  are!"  Holding  the  High- 


38  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


lander's  throat  in  his  left  hand  he  drew  his  long  butcher 
knife  and,  after  a  flourish  or  two,  held  the  black, 
reeking  scalp  aloft.  Then  he  released  his  hold,  saying 
as  a  parting  shot :  "The  French  and  Indians  can  do 
the  rest.  Your  bare  noggin  will  look  well  on  one  of 
the  poles  along  the  race  ground  at  the  fort." 

Like  a  huge  moose  the  big  Indian  bounded  over  the 
heaps  of  slain,  and  in  the  darkness  of  the  forest  hid 
himself  until  the  remnant  of  the  command  could  be 
gathered  together.  All  of  the  scouts  who  returned, 
and  a  few  of  the  Virginians  and  Highlanders,  carried 
black  scalps  in  their  belts.  Long  John's  was  only  one 
of  many ;  it  might  be  that  of  an  Indian  or  a  southern 
Frenchman. 

Later  in  the  year,  in  the  cold  and  sleet  of  a  Novem- 
ber afternoon,  the  victorious  army  of  Forbes.  Bouquet 
and  Washington  marched  towards  the  abandoned 
stockades  of  Fort  Duquesne.  The  easiest  path  to 
follow  was  the  Indian  race  ground,  where  captives  had 
been  made  to  run  the  gauntlet,  all  marked  out  with 
sharpened  stakes,  gotten  up  as  scare  crow  effigies  of 
fallen  Highlanders.  There  was  a  head  on  the  top  of 
each  stake,  and  over  cross-bars  were  draped  the  faded 
coats  and  kilts  of  the  decapitated  warriors.  It  was  a 
gruesome  sight,  and  some  of  the  Highland  soldiers 
moaned  and  cursed  aloud  as  they  recognized  the  sev- 
ered heads  of  brothers  or  comrades. 

Major  Thrale  was  the  only  high-ranking  Highlander 
accounted  missing  from  the  skirmish  of  September  13, 
and  Major  Agmondesham  had  a  little  curiosity  to  see 


39 


if  his  head  was  impaled;  if  not  he  may  have  run  away 
into  the  forest,  and  be  still  running  for  that  matter. 
As  he  scanned  each  head,  well  preserved  by  the  con- 
tinued freezing  weather,  he  looked  for  the  small  black 
mustache,  that  souvenir  of  continental  service,  which 
would  distinguish  the  unfortunate  Major.  At  the 
very  end  of  the  race  ground,  he  spied  the  well-known 
face.  As  he  looked  at  it.  he  heard  a  snicker  in  the 
ranks,  that  was  not  at  all  like  the  hysterical  coughs  of 
grief  ;  peering  out  of  the  corner  of  one  eye  he  saw  a 
triumphant  expression  on  the  eagle-like  visage  of 
Long  John.  Like  a  flash  many  ideas  came  to  him. 
Could  this  redman,  from  his  own  disappointment  or 
out  of  respect  for  his  commander's  unrequited  love, 
have  slain  the  successful  suitor?  If  so,  it  was  merely 
another  exemplification  of  the  unfathomable  depths  of 
the  Indian  character. 

As  to  Big  John,  as  stated  before,  his  exploits  belong 
more  to  the  central  part  of  the  State,  but  are  equally 
worth  recording,  for,  like  Long  John,  he  lived  fully 
and  loved  well,  and  was  in  every  sense  worthy  of  a 
place  in  the  folk  history  of  the  Commonwealth.  Some 
time  ago  the  writer  heard  that  several  anecdotes  of 
Rig  John  could  be  learned  from  a  certain  Frank  Dapp, 
an  old-time  watch-maker  and  hunter,  but  on  visiting 
his  home  town  it  was  learned  that  he  had  passed  away. 
It  recalls  the  incident  of  when  the  famous  author  of 
"Chants  Popularie  de  la  Provence,"  Damase  Arbaud, 
went  on  a  long  journey  to  speak  with  a  man  reported 
to  have  cognizance  of  much  traditional  matter,  he  met 


40 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


issuing  from  the  house  door,  not  the  man,  but  his 
coffin.  Thus  legends  are  lost,  and  it  is  well  that  a  few 
have  been  saved  concerning  the  days  in  the  Pennsyl- 
vania mountains  "when  there  were  giants." 


•it* 


HI.    Love  Beyond  the  Grave 


WHEN  old  Jacob  Schneck  was  left  a  widower  he 
was  nearly  seventy  years  of  age.  He  had  quar- 
relled with  his  only  son  twenty  years  before,  and 
had  not  heard  from  him  since  he  went  to  Kansas,  soon 
after  this  disturbance.  Old  Jacob  was  known  as  a 
violent,  quarrelsome  character,  and  it  was  only  by  his 
wife  humoring  him  that  she  was  able  to  live  with  him 
at  all.  He  was  a  short,  heavy-set  man,  with  a  grizzled 
beard,  gruff  of  voice  and  coarse  of  manner;  he  had 
been  a  stonemason  in  his  youth,  and  was  reputed  to 
have  saved  some  money.  Most  of  his  life  was  spent  on 
a  farm  along  the  pike,  and  for  many  years  his  square 
white  frame  house  in  the  Black  Gap  was  a  familiar 
landmark  to  travelers.  When  his  wife  died'  he  did  not 
exhibit  any  signs  of  grief,  except  a  deep-seated  chagrin 
at  having  his  housekeeper  removed,  for  the  poor 
woman  had  suited  him  admirably  in  that  respect.  He 
caused  it  to  be  known  that  he  was  in  need  of  a  house- 
keeper ;  he  even  mentioned  the  subject  on  the  way 
back  from  the  graveyard.  It  soon  became  a  matter 
of  common  gossip.  The  general  run  of  women  shrank 
from  going  to  the  house  of  such  an  uncouth  character. 
Several  months  passed  before  he  even  received  an 
applicant.  He  was  forced  to  cook  his  own  meals. 
The  Widow  Lemasters,  who  lived  about  a  mile  back  in 
the  hills,  came  to  see  him  one  day  to  tell  him  of  a  very 
Iftcely  person,  her  niece,  Miriam  Dousdebes.  "Was 
she  a  daughter  of  his  old  friend,  Adam  Dousdebes?" 

41 


42  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

he  queried.  ''If  so,  she  came  of  good  stock;  he  would 
feel  lucky  to  get  her."  Widow  Lemasters  believed  in 
calling  a  spade  a  spade,  and  informed  him  that  Miriam 
had  gone  to  Baltimore  to  work  in  a  hotel ;  that  before 
she  went  she  had  been  the  victim  of  what  was  known 
in  the  mountains  as  an  "unfortunate  love  affair"  ;  that 
she  wanted  to  come  back,  but  would  only  come  if  she 
could  get  some  steady  work  like  that  of  housekeeper. 
Old  Schneck,  having  known  the  girl's  father  well,  and 
thinking  that  he  remembered  her  by  sight,  made  a 
liberal  offer  for  her  services,  and  Widow  Lemasters 
left,  promising  to  write  to  her  at  once.  It  was  a  load 
off  her  mind,  as  she  was  fond  of  the  girl  and  wanted 
her  in  her  home  environment  again,  but  after  what 
had  happened  knew  that  she  was  too  headstrong  and 
proud  to  sit  about  the  house  if  not  contributing  to  her 
own  support.  Schneck  had  not  been  noted  for  his 
morals  in  his  youth,  but  now  as  an  aged  man  and 
widower,  had  probably  outgrown  his  early  predilec- 
tions. After  having  located  the  situation,  Widow  Le- 
masters told  her  brother  and  his  wife  of  the  place  she 
had  found  for  Miriam.  "I  don't  like  Jake  Schneck," 
said  old  Dousdebes.  uHe  was  a  d'raft  dodger  in  the 
Civil  War.  You  mind  how  he  hid  in  a  cave  on  Bear 
Mountain  while  the  draft  was  going  on ;  he  was  a 
copperhead  before  that,  and  a  man  with  such  begin- 
nings can  be  no  good  now.  I  fought  for  my  country  as 
best  I  could,  and  I  can  never  forgive  the  quitter  who 
slinked  out  at  home."  Nevertheless  he  conceded  that 
it  would  be  best  to  get  Miriam  home ;  she  would  only 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  43 

come  back  if  she  had  work;  that  she  had  stipulated  in 
many  letters.  Schneck  might  be  all  right ;  he  would 
pay  her  well,  and  she  might  as  well  "try  it  on." 

The  girl  was  written  to,  the  place  was  pictured  as 
alluring  as  possible,  and  the  family  connection  lived 
in  hopes  for  a  favorable  reply.  Ten  days  elapsed  be- 
fore she  answered,  but  when  the  letter  came,  in  her 
usual  clear-hand  waiting,  it  was  to  say  that  she  would 
accept  the  place,  and  was  starting  the  very  next  day. 
Widow  Lemasters  carried  the  news  to  old  Schneck, 
whom  she  found  in  an  ugly  frame  of  mind;  he  had 
begun  to  despair  of  ever  getting  a  housekeeper,  was  on 
the  point  of  making  sale  and  moving  to  Chambers- 
burg,  he  averred.  Miriam,  in  her  letter,  stated  ex- 
pressly that  she  wanted  to  be  taken  directly  from  the 
train  to  her  new  place.  She  was  in  apparently  an  ex- 
citable frame  of  mind  about  coming  home,  so  it  was 
deemed  best  to  humor  her.  Mr.  Schneck  had  an  old- 
fashioned  surrey,  and,  hitching  up  his  pair  of  twenty- 
five-year-old  flea-bitten  whites,  and  accompanied  by 
Widow  Lemasters,  he  drove  down  the  pike  to  Seven 
Stars,  where  Miriarn  had  stipulated  she  would  be  met 
in  preference  to  Pond  Bank,  as  she  did  not  care  to  run 
the  chance  of  seeing  any  of  her  old  friends  just  yet. 
Being  of  Greek  descent  on  her  father's  side  and 
Palatine  and  Huguenot  on  her  mother's,  she  was  what 
they  called  in  the  mountains  "high  strung,"  and  in  the 
cities  "temperamental." 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  of  the  first  of  December 
when  the  little,  jerky  train  pulled  in  at  the  station. 


44 


Schneck  was  sitting  in  the  surrey  holding  the  horses, 
which  were  said  to  be  afraid  of  cars,  leaving  Widow 
Lemasters  to  meet  the  girl,  attend  to  her  trunk  and  the 
rest.  The  train  was  half  an  hour  late,  and  Miriam 
had  heen  traveling  since  early  in  the  morning.  The 
greybeard,  while  pretending  to  be  watching  the  horses, 
was  keeping  a  sharp  lookout  for  the  girl,  for  down 
deep  in  his  battered  old  nature  he  felt  a  thrill  for  the 
opposite  sex  that  time  could  not  still.  He  noticed  her 
the  minute  she  alighted  from  the  train.  What  a  pretty 
girl  she  was !  So  slim  and  graceful !  She  was  stand- 
ing on  the  platform  talking  to  her  aunt  before  they 
walked  across  to  get  into  the  carriage.  She  was 
dressed  in  black,  in  a  tight-fitting  suit,  and  was  a  trifle 
above  the  middle  height.  Her  face  was  very  lean,  the 
features  sharply  cut,  the  cheekbones  broad,  the 
cheeks  hollow,  the  nose  prominent,  the  thin,  wide 
mouth  seemingly  drawn  tight  over  the  teeth  like 
the  lips  of  a  mummy.  The  eyes,  hair  and  brows  were 
very  black,  the  complexion  deadly  pale,  yet  not  un- 
wholesome. How  fortunate  he  was,  he  thought,  to 
draw  for  housekeeper  such  a  lovely  object;  he  would 
treat  her  well,  and  perhaps  she  could  marry  him.  As 
she  came  across  the  platform  carrying  a  wicker  suit- 
case, he  made  no  move  to  get  out  of  the  surrey  as  she 
approached.  He  curtly  tipped  his  hat  when  intro- 
duced by  Widow  Lemasters.  Seeing  his  imperturba- 
bility the  girl  hurried  back  across  the  platform,  lo- 
cated the  agent,  who  gladly  carried  her  small  tin  trunk, 
placing  it  on  the  seat  beside  the  aged  driver.  Then  the 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  45 

women  got  in,  pulled  a  buffalo  robe  over  their  knees, 
and  the  ponderous  farm  horses  started  off  on  a  half 
gallop,  half  trot  along  the  bleak,  bare  road,  the  wind 
moaning  dismally  among  the  telephone  wires.  There 
was  very  little  conversation  on  the  eight-mile  drive ; 
it  was  dark  and  spitting  snow  when  they  reached  the 
old  man's  home.  He  let  Widow  Lemasters  and  Miriam 
lift  out  the  suitcase  and  trunk,  but  told  them  that  they 
would  find  the  key  under  the  rag  rug  by  the  kitchen 
door. 

Inside  the  house  was  cold  and  dark,  while  they  fum- 
bled for  the  matches.  The  man  had  driven  his  team  to 
the  barn,  and  was  leisurely  "putting  them  away."  By 
the  time  he  returned,  the  lamp  was  lit  and  a  woodfire 
burning  in  the  kitchen  stove.  It  was  a  large,  cheerless- 
looking  room,  bare  of  everything  but  necessities.  Yet 
Miriam  had  seen  many  such  kitchens  in  her  twenty- 
three  years  of  life,  and  thought  nothing  of  it.  So  for 
the  manners  of  her  employer,  they  were  on  a  par  with 
those  of  the  majority  of  persons  she  knew.  It  was 
the  hard,  rough  life  to  which  she  was  accustomed. 
Before  making  any  plans  for  supper,  the  old  man  in- 
vited the  women  to  come  to  the  barn  to  help  him  milk. 
When  they  got  there,  a  calf  had  been  lately  born,  and 
it  was  nearly  10  o'clock  before  they  returned  to  the 
house.  Then  they  had  what  is  known  as  "snack"  and 
prepared  to  retire  for  the  night.  There  were  three 
bedrooms  in  the  house.  Schneck  occupied  the  largest 
one.  There  was  a  guest  room  opposite,  and  a  smaller 
room  over  the  kitchen  for  the  housekeeper.  It  con- 


40  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

tained  a  single,  very  narrow,  wooden  bed  of  antique 
design,  but  Miriam  asked  her  aunt  to  share  it  with  her 
"the  first  night."  The  women  found  a  small  glass 
lamp — old  Schneck  had  taken  the  best  one — and 
climbed  the  narrow  stairs,  which  were  concealed  be- 
hind a  door  at  one  side  of  the  boarded'-over  open  fire- 
place, in  front  of  which  stood  the  shining  metal  stove. 
It  was  a  cold  bedroom,  destitute  of  all  means  of  heat- 
ing, but  Miriam  had  always  been  used  to  cold  rooms, 
even  after  she  went  to  Baltimore,  and  she  took  it  as  a 
matter  of  course.  Even  after  asking  her  aunt  to  stay 
with  her,  she  had  nothing  to  say.  The  women  undressed 
silently  and  retired,  and  were  soon  asleep.  They  were 
awake  long  before  daybreak,  as  was  their  habit,  dressed 
in  the  dark,  went  out  to  the  barn  and  milked,  washing 
in  a  small  tin  basin  of  cold  water  on  the  side  porch 
after  they  had  returned  with  the  milk. 

After  breakfast  Widow  Lemasters  took  her  depar- 
ture, leaving  Miriam  with  the  old  man.  That  after- 
noon the  aunt  wended  her  way  to  the  Dousdebes  home 
and  told  the  story.  All  were  pleased  that  the  girl  was 
safely  located,  and  in  about  a  week  planned'  to  visit  her. 

Old  Schneck  was  very  happy,  as  he  deeply  admired 
his  housekeeper  far  above  any  work  she  might  do  for 
him.  Though  he  made  no  effort  to  lighten  any  of  her 
burdens,  he  kept  staring  at  her  when  he  was  with  her, 
and  thinking  of  her  when  away  from  her  all  the  time. 
He  began  to  live  in  a  state  of  elation,  such  as  he  had 
not  known  since  the  days  of  his  youth.  There  was 
something  in  that  deathly  pale  face,  with  its  sunken 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


cheeks,  those  cavernous  dark  eyes  always  gazing  out 
through  half-closed  lids  like  a  sullen  falcon,  raptorial 
and  passionate,  and  the  wide,  thin  mouth  drawn  so 
tightly  over  the  teeth,  that  appealed  to  him  as 
no  woman's  features  had  before.  He  liked  to 
watch  her  from  his  bench  behind  the  stove,  so  agile 
combing  her  wonderful  head  of  raven  hair,  hair  that 
had  a  very  slight  curl  to  it  and  hung  below  lier  waist, 
every  motion  of  her  arms  throwing  into  relief  the  at- 
tenuation of  her  form,  the  almost  incredible  smallness 
of  her  waist,  the  meagreness  of  her  hips,  when  she  had 
finished  her  milking  and  was  "washing  up"  for  break- 
fast. Every  motion  was  beauty  and  grace,  and  illumi- 
nated his  blurred  old  life  with  thrills  of  incandescence. 
Sometimes  her  mother  came  to  see  her,  less  frequently 
her  father,  and  still  less  frequently  her  brothers  and 
sisters.  Her  father  did  not  like  the  "old  draft  dodger," 
as  he  called  Schneck,  and  always  wore  his  bronze 
Grand  Army  button  conspicuously  during  his  visits. 
His  ancestors  had  fled  to  Pennsylvania  from  Greece, 
along  with  many  other  refugees,  about  the  time  that 
the  heroic  Lord  Byron  was  distinguishing  himself 
there,  and  there  was  steadfastness  of  purpose  and  a 
stubborn  patriotism  that  came  from  heroic  sires  who 
hated  cowards  and  traitors  as  a  part  of  their  long 
years  of  oppression.  But  he  was  pleased  that  Miriam 
was  back  from  the  city,  though  her  troubles  had  origi- 
nated before  she  had  gone  to  Baltimore,  and'  her  life 
there  had  been  one  of  drudgery,  and  though  every- 
thing else  was  as  it  should  have  been.  Yet  lie  associ- 


48  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

ated  cities  with  wholesale  wickedness,  and  his  "girl" 
was  better  off  with  a  poltroon  like  Schneck  than  in 
some  vast,  seething  Sodom!  The  greater  part  of  a 
year  passed  by  and  Miriam  still  remained  with  the  old 
man.  Like  her  father,  she  possessed  a  tenacity  of 
purpose ;  she  had  remained  four  years  in  Baltimore 
as  cook  and  waitress  in  hotels  and  restaurants ;  she 
might  remain  even  longer  with  the  old  man  if  he  lived 
long  enough.  She  had  resumed  her  acquaintance  with 
none  of  her  early  friends,  boys  or  girls.  The  miles 
that  intervened  between  Schneck's  home  and  her  pa- 
rents' domicile  proved  an  effectual  barrier ;  besides, 
most  of  them  had  married  and  taken  up  other  interests 
during  the  period  of  her  absence.  Sometimes  she  had 
unpleasant  dreams  at  night  that  revived  the  high  hopes 
of  her  girlhood'  and  their  sordid  ending,  but  otherwise 
she  was  beginning  to  feel  more  like  her  old  self.  The 
harder  she  worked  in  the  barn  and  garden  the  better 
she  felt ;  the  dreams  which  awoke  old  memories  were 
less  frequent  as  she  increased  the  scope  of  her  manual 
labor.  For  her  temperament  she  was  probably  happier 
than  she  had  been  for  many  years.  At  her  home  she 
had  been  hard  to  control ;  then  came  her  trouble,  and 
she  went  away  to  a  new  environment.  One  evening  a 
stranger  came  to  Schneck's  house,  his  motor  car  had 
broken  down  on  the  pike,  and  he  asked  for  shelter  for' 
the  night.  The  old  man  had  no  objections  to  admit- 
ting him.  Seated  in  the  kitchen,  by  the  light  of  the 
single  lamp,  the  stranger  eyed  Miriam  closely,  and 
admired  her  mightily  with  his  artist's  vision.  He  won- 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  49 

dered  what  her  life's  history  could  be  in  that  doleful 
spot,  keeping  house  for  that  rough  old  yokel.  He 
wished  that  he  might  know  her  better.  That  night  he 
had  a  dream  in  which  the  entire  story  of  her  life  was 
revealed  to  him.  "What  is  dreamed  in  a  new  bed'  is 
always  true/'  so  the  mountain  proverb  puts  it.  In  the 
morning  he  delayed  his  departure  until  he  might  be 
alone  with  the  girl.  His  chance  came  when  his  chauf- 
feur and  the  old  man  went  outside  to  put  water  in  the 
car.  Then  tipping  back  his  chair  against  the  greasy 
wainscoted  wall  of  the  kitchen,  he  told  her  of  his 
vision.  Miriam  blushed  even  to  the  roots  of  her  dark, 
curly  hair,  the  only  time  that  her  deathly  pale  face  had 
shown  any  color  since  she  came  to  keep  house  for 
Schneck,  and  after  failing  to  answer  for  a  time,  finally 
nodded  her  head  in  assent.  To  it  she  added  a  story 
of  cruel  treatment  in  childhood,  of  lack  of  home 
training,  culminating  in  running  away  at  the  age  of 
fourteen,  only  to  be  brought  back  under  more  re- 
stricted conditions.  The  stranger  went  away,  never 
to  return.  For  some  reason  the  old  man's  jeal- 
ousy became  aroused,  for  he  ordered  her  to  accommo- 
date no  more  travelers,  and  was  moody  and  sulky  for 
several  days.  That  was  the  only  episode  that  broke 
the  routine  of  her  life  on  the  farm  until  the  dread  epi- 
demic of  influenza  set  in,  when  she  had  been  with  the 
old  man  for  nearly  a  year.  Schneck  had  been  work- 
ing late,  husking  corn,  Miriam  assisting  him,  and', 
coming  in  long  after  nightfall,  experienced  a  chill,  and 
went  to  bed.  Miriam  gave  him  all  the  teas  she  could 


50  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

find  in  the  house — boneset,  catnip,  and  Jersey,  elder- 
berry wine  and  whiskey,  but  he  was  so  much  worse  in 
the  morning  that  she  hitched  up  one  of  the  horses  and 
drove  to  the  nearest  telephone  to  summon  a  doctor 
from  Fayetteville.  When  she  returned  in  half  an  hour 
he  was  delirious,  and  as  she  approached  the  bed  tried 
to  catch  hold  of  her  and  draw  her  close  to  him,  moan- 
ing out  in  Pennsylvania  Dutch  that  he  loved  her,  that 
he  was  going  to  die,  and  she  must  go  with  him.  When 
the  doctor  came  at  noon  he  was  still  raving,  all  in  the 
same  unpleasant  strain.  He  became  so  violent  that 
the  doctor  ordered  the  girl  to  keep  out  of  the  room. 
Several  neighbor  women  were  summoned,  but  when 
he  saw  them  he  cursed  wildly  in  Dutch,  and  called  for 
Miriam.  In  the  middle  of  the  night  he  sprang  from 
the  bed  and,  knocking  his  nurses  asitfe,  rushed  down 
the  cold  stairway,  through  the  hall  into  the  kitchen, 
and  with  feverish  fingers  fumbled  the  hasp  leading  to 
the  staircase  to  Miriam's  tiny  room.  The  girl  was  sit- 
ting on  the  bed  in  the  darkness,  her  dress  was  off,  she 
had  been  trying  to  write  a  letter  to  the  stranger  when 
the  lamp  had  gone  out,  and,  sinking  down,  became  ab- 
sorbed in  revery.  She  was  aroused  by  the  racket  be- 
low, and  heard  the  door  open  and  a  couple  of  heavy 
footfalls,  followed  by  the  shrieks  of  the  neighbor 
women  who  were  now  at  old  Schneck's  heels.  Calling 
loudly  in  Pennsylvania  Dutch  :  "Miriam,  I  love  you  ; 
I  am  dying,  and  I  am  going  to  take  you  with  me,"  he 
fell  in  a  heap  on  the  first  step  and  was  dragged  back 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  51 

only  to  be  found  stone  dead.  Miriam  sat  down  again 
on  the  bed  in  the  darkness,  dazed,  until  the  neighbor 
women  appeared  with  lamps  and  told'  her  to  come  down 
and  help  carry  the  corpse  back  to  its  bed.  She  crawled 
into  her  dress  somehow,  and  helped  perform  the  grue- 
some task,  and  lay  out  the  corpse  as  well.  In  the  morn- 
ing friends  of  the  deceased  arrived  and  it  was  arranged 
that  Miriam  should  remain  in  the  house  after  the 
funeral  until  young  Schneck  could  come  in  from  Kan- 
sas and  take  possession  of  his  late  father's  property. 
Widow  Lemasters  would  live  with  her — it  would  not 
be  for  long.  Miriam  had  to  work  somewhere;  she  did 
not  want  to  go  back  to  Baltimore ;  there  was  a  man 
there  who  annoyed  her  with  his  attentions.  She  would 
remain,  and  perhaps  might  keep  house  for  young 
Schneck  if  he  elected  to  reside  at  his  father's  home- 
stead. 

The  night  after  the  funeral  Miriam  retired  to  her 
little  room  above  the  kitchen.  Widow  Lemasters  was 
occupying  the  guest  chamber.  The  girl  knew  no  fear. 
She  would  have  slept  in  the  room  the  old  man  died  in, 
or  beside  the  corpse,  if  there  had  been  any  reason  for 
so  doing.  At  midnight  she  was  awakened  by  some  one 
walking  about  in  the  kitchen.  "It's  only  Aunty,"  she 
thought,  "down  after  some  medicine  for  her  tooth- 
ache." But  soon  she  heard  gutteral  and  inarticulate 
sounds  like  disjointed  sentences  in  Dutch.  Could  it  be 
old  Schneck  coming  back  to  keep  his  promise?  She 
heard  the  hasp  creak,  but  it  did  not  open,  and  it  wat- 


52  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

soon  followed  by  a  terrific  pounding  on  the  door,  in- 
terspersed with  moans  and'  sighs.  The  racket  was  so 
great  and  so  prolonged  that  Widow  Lemasters  was 
awakened  and,  coming  down  with  her  lamp,  found  no 
one.  She  opened  the  door  and  called  to  Miriam, 
"Are  you  sick?  Have  you  been  in  the  kitchen?"  "No, 
I  am  not  sick,"  replied  the  girl,  resolutely,  "and  I  have 
not  been  in  the  kitchen.  It's  Jake  Schneck  come  back/' 
The  following  night  the  same  performance  was  re- 
peated, only  the  din  was  louder.  The  next  morning 
Widow  Lemasters  asked  the  girl  to  come  and  sleep  with 
her  in  the  guest  room,  but  she  refused.  "No  ghost 
has  the  strength  to  unhook  a  hasp,"  she  said  boldly. 
The  racket  kept  up  every  night  for  two  weeks,  some- 
times becoming  louder  and  more  menacing,  but  Miriam 
learned  to  sleep  through  it  all.  One  Sunday  night  the 
rumpus  was  louder  than  ever,  waking  her,  but  not 
frightening  her.  This  time,  to  her  surprise,  the  hasp 
was  sprung  aside,  and  Miriam  heard  heavy  footsteps 
on  the  cramped,  crooked  stairs.  "Oh,  if  he'd  only 
fall,"  she  said  to  herself,  still  lying  prone.  But  on  he 
came ;  there  was  no  door  at  the  head  of  the  stairs ;  the 
steps  opened  in  a  corner  of  the  room.  Out  of  the 
floor,  in  the  moonlight,  appeared  Jake  Schneck's  head 
and  shoulders,  then  his  whole  form,  and  with  our- 
stretched  arms,  came  in  view.  Miriam  was  now  sitting 
up  in  bed,  her  aquiline  face  with  its  fine  thin  month 
looking  all  the  world  like  the  Mummy  of  Rameses  II , 
her  dark  eyes  gleaming  with  all  the  anger  of  Horus, 


53 


the  Avenger.  The  ugly  form  advanced  toward  the 
bed,  but  after  taking  a  couple  of  steps,  with  a  crash 
toppled  forward,  falling  over  the  foot  of  the  bed  and 
vanishing.  Miriam  stood  the  ordeal  without  fainting, 
but  in  the  morning  told  her  aunt  that  since  the  appari- 
tion had  begun  penetrating  into  her  room  she  could 
remain  in  the  house  no  longer.  She  gathered  together 
her  belongings  and,  walking  to  a  neighbor's  house  in 
the  cold  fog  of  the  early  morning,  secured  a  horse  and 
spring  wagon  to  take  her,  with  her  trunk  and  suitcase, 
to  Seven  Stars,  where  she  boarded  a  train  which  would 
connect  for  Harrisburg.  After  what  she  had  bem 
through,  Widow  Lemasters  could  not  ask  her  to  stay. 
Distant  relatives  and  friends  of  the  deceased  boarded 
up  the  house,  arranging  to  care  for  the  livestock,  for 
the  son,  though  telegraphed  for,  showed  himself  to 
be  in  no  hurry  to  come  east.  That  night  the  noise  in 
the  deserted  house  was  so  great  that  it  was  heard  at 
the  neighboring  farmhouses,  half  a  mile  away.  The 
ghost  seemed  to  be  pounding  the  house  down  with  mi- 
potent  rage  and  frenzy.  Every  night  the  same  pro- 
ceedings occurred,  some  nights  less  .violently  than 
others,  for  the  love  that  lasted  beyond  the  grave  must 
be  appeased,  and'  the  soul  of  the  old  man  was  so  earth 
bound  that  it  could  not  take  flight.  Widow  Lemasters, 
when  she  heard  of  these  doings,  sagely  remarked : 
"There's  only  one  thing  to  do :  tear  down  the  house, 
and  that  will  lay  the  hellish  ghost."  And  having  a 
reputation  for  knowledge  along  such  lines,  her  views 


54 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


were  pretty  generally  acquiesced  in.  Miriam's  parents, 
when  they  heard  she  had  gone  away  without  saying 
good-bye  or  leaving  an  address,  were  considerably 
chagrined.  "We  should  have  knowrn  that  a  draft 
dodger  was  no  earthly  good,"  said  old  Dousdebes, 
shaking  his  his  shaggy  black  beard,  "and  too  mean 
even  to  find  a  place  in  the  world  beyond." 


IV.    Conestoga 

WHEN. old  Pastor  Simon  Rostraver,  of  Slaney 
Church,  at  Farmersmith,  near  the  head  of  Path 
Valley,  was  left  a  widower,  one  of  his  daughters 
from  Letterkenny,  who  had  lost  her  husband  some 
years  before,  and  whose  children  were  grown,  came 
to  live  with  him.  She  was  a  devoted  companion  and 
attendant,  never  leaving  him,  except  once  a  year  at 
Christmas  time,  when  she  would  return  to  Letterkenny 
and  visit  about  among  her  children  and  grandchildren 
for  the  two  weeks  between  Christmas  and  the  first 
week  of  the  New  Year.  She  always  urged  her  aged 
father  to  come  along,  as  did  his  numerous  descend- 
ants, but  he  preferred  his  familiar  associations  in  the 
bleak  old  manse  where  he  had  lived  for  so  many  years, 
to  all  the  holiday  festivities  which  his  kindred  might 
offer.  He  had  moved  to  Path  Valley  soon  after  being 
ordained  into  the  ministry,  nearly  sixty  years  before, 
first  settling  near  Fort  London,  and  gradually  moving 
with  the  congregations  as  the  upper  part  of  the  valley 
was  opened,  until  in  his  old  age  he  received  the  least 
desirable  charge  of  all  at  Farmersmith,  where  he  felt 
that  he  would  round  out  his  days.  Perhaps  it  was  a 
fear  of  being  superseded  that  caused  him  to  cling  so 
tenaciously  to  the  manse,  as  even  in  these  remote  days 
younger  men  were  always  the  preference,  even  in  the 
church.  Probably  because  they  were  more  newly  ar- 
rived from  heaven,  for  certainly  these  striplings  would 
possess  less  worldly  wisdom !  During  his  daughter's 

55 


56  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

absences,  a  granddaughter  or  a  great-granddaughter 
was  always  selected  to  keep  him  company,  and  the  two 
weeks  usually  passed  pleasantly  and  placidly.  There 
were  very  few  of  the  old  pastor's  denomination  at  the 
head  of  the  valley,  but  those  who  were  there  were  zeal- 
ous church  members,  so  what  the  congregation  lacked 
in  numbers  made  up  in  enthusiasm. 

On  the  particular  Christmas  tide  that  concerns  this 
narrative  a  great-granddaughter,  "Jodie"  Bridgham, 
from  Fort  London,  had  been  told  off  to  act  as  com- 
panion during  her  aunt's  absence.  She  was  an  unus-- 
ually  pretty  girl  of  sixteen,  and  was  bright,  cheerful 
and  sociable.  To  her,  and  to  her  alone,  in  the  long 
winter  evenings  the  old  man  sometimes  would  tell  of 
his  early  days  in  Ireland,  at  Clogher,  how  when  the 
wild  geese  flew  over  the  place  it  was  said,  "They  are 
going  to  Lough  Neagh,"  which  he  would  proudly 
acclaim  was  the  largest  inland  lake  in  Europe.  He 
would  tell  of  stirring  times  at  Paxtang  and 
London,  or  the  Revolution,  or  when  Indians  abound- 
ed, and  the  country  was  still  being  fought  for 
by  the  British  and  French.  He  had  known  Rev. 
John  Elder,  the  righting  parson  of  Paxtang  Church, 
who  was  an  Antrim  man,  born  at  Lough  Neagh ; 
Colonel  Lazarus  Stewart,  John  Harris,  John  Good- 
away,  the  friendly  Indian,  Colonel  Henri  Bouquet, 
the  real  victor  at  Fort  Duquesne.  Major  Grant  of  the 
Highlanders,  James  Logan,  the  Mingo  Chief,  "Mad'' 
Anthony  Wayne.  General  John  Philip  De  Haas,  Gen- 
eral Thomas  Mifflin,  and  all  the  other  characters  then 


A  Close  View 

of 
'Rocky   Mount" 


io 


"inuoM 


____ 


fl  i        Li       11    t' 

ere  x.ca  I'- 
ll lacked 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  57 

assuming  historical  importance.  He  once  told  of  the 
massacres  of  the  friendly  Conestoga  Indians  at  their 
camp  near  Lancaster,  and  in  Lancaster  Work  House, 
yet  minimized  the  part  he  had  played,  either  from  mod- 
esty or  changed  convictions.  Yet  it  was  on  record  how 
this  then  young  graduate  of  the  Log  College,  in  cleri- 
cal attire,  had  shot  down  the  Chief  of  the  Conestogas, 
the  one  ahle-hodied  Indian  in  the  entire  aggregation  of 
victims,  while  he  was  trying  to  protect  the  women  and 
children,  and  how  John  Penn,  hearing  of  it,  had  placed 
a  price  on  his  scalp.  He  had  hidden  in  the  Tuscarora 
and  Kittochtinny  Mountains  for  many  months,  until 
finally  powerful  friends  had  softened  the  wrath  of  the 
unstable  Penn,  and  he  had  been  allowed  to  resume  his 
churchly  calling,  provided  he  never  returned  to  Pax- 
tang.  Even  when  the  Penns  had  vanished  he  never 
came  back,  so  in  that  respect  he  was  the  most  punished 
member  of  the  bloodthirsty  band  of  so-called  "Paxton 
Boys."  The  weather  was  very  severe,  but  despite  this 
the  young  great-granddaughter  accompanied  a  sleigh- 
ing party  to  Horse  Valley,  where  sliding  on  a  mill  pond 
of  the  Conodogwinet  was  indulged  in,  and  the  young 
people  built  a  fire  to  warm  themselves.  In  some  unac- 
countable manner  Jodie's  clothing  caught  fire  and  she 
was  severely  burned  about  the  body.  A  local  doctor 
helped  her  all  he  could.  She  was  then  hurried  back  to 
Farmersmith.  Several  doctors  attended  her,  saying 
that  if  she  withstood  the  shock  she  would  survive  the 
burning.  The  old  pastor,  being  nearly  ninety  years 
of  age,  was  considerably  upset  by  this  dreadful  acci- 


58  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

dent ;  especially  there  was  no  way  to  get  a  quick  mes- 
sage to  her  parents,  so  with  the  aid  of  his  old  servant, 
Maggie  Gleim,  attempted  to  care  for  and  nurse  the 
girl  until  some  one  would  be  going  to  Letterkenny. 
The  night  before  Jodie  had'  gone  to  Horse  Valley  he 
had  sat  up  with  her  in  his  library,  telling  more  of  the 
episodes  of  his  early  life,  and  his  mind  was  filled  with 
memories  of  the  stirring  days  along  the  Blue  Moun- 
tains in  the  Eighteenth  Century,  of  his  youth  in  '55, 
and  his  strong  manhood  in  '63.  Now,  as  night  came 
on  and  his  favorite  descendant  lay  suffering,  he  in- 
formed his  servant  that  he  would  sit  up  with  her, 
that  he  was  a  very  poor  sleeper,  and  it  would  leave 
Maggie  fresher  to  do  her  work  the  next  morn- 
ing. The  old  maid-of-all-work  gladly  consented, 
and  the  aged  man  took  up  his  vigil  beside  the 
young  girl's  bedside.  The  girl  lay  in  a  large  yellow 
walnut  bedstead  in  the  spare  room,  a  great,  square, 
high-ceilinged  apartment,  with  an  open  fireplace,  on 
the  front  of  the  mantel  of  which  was  carved  an  in- 
scription in  the  Gaelic  language : 

"Far'm  beil  na  laoich  a  dh' — fhalbh  o  shean. 

An  cadal  trcm  gun  dol  le  ceol." 
However,  in  common  with  most  men  of  the  Rev. 
Simon  Rostraver's  persuasion,  he  detested  everything 
that  savored  of  the  native  Irish,  always  empha- 
sizing his  Scotch  or  English  origin.  The  old  pastor 
was,  however,  one  of  the  earliest  students  of  the 
Gaelic  tongue  in  the  entire  United  States,  but  it 
was  the  Gaelic  of  Scotland,  and  not  of  the  Em- 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  59 

erald  Isle,  that  interested  him,  he  said.  As  he  sat 
by  the  bedside,  the  huge  room  lit  by  a  single  rush 
light  on  the  night  table,  and  the  glow  from  the  backlog 
in  the  fireplace,  he  noted  the  flushed,  feverish  condition 
of  the  girl's  face,  how  restless  she  was.  and  how  un- 
natural she  seemed  when  he  tried  to  converse  with  her. 
She  appeared  to  have  great  difficulty  in  breathing,  and 
tossed  from  side  to  side  of  the  bed,  every  move  adding 
to  her  misery,  yet  was  fully  conscious  of  her  surround- 
ings. When  she  would  lie  quiet  or  seem  to  doze,  the 
old  man,  in  order  to  divert  his  mind,  would  hearken 
back  in  his  thoughts  to  the  pioneer  days  at  Paxtang, 
where  he  played  so  stirring  a  part — they  could  not 
have  been  altogether  pleasant  memories,  but  he  was 
worried  lest  the  young  girl  die,  so  far  away  from  her 
parents,  and  any  change  of  thought  was  refreshing. 
He  recalled  the  recent  visit  of  the  young  hunter, 
Johnny  Kilgore,  who  always  brought  him  a  deer  for 
Christmas  ;  how  the  boy  who  lived  to  be  the  most  noted 
Nimrod  in  Horse  and  Path  Valleys  had  described 
seeing  seven  Indians  packing  eastward  over  the  Tri- 
Mountain  Road,  how  they  had  stopped  at  Hetty  Bell's 
spring  for  mead  and  ginger  cakes,  almost  frightening 
that  good  woman  out  of  her  wits.  Who  could  those 
Indians  have  been,  and  where  were  they  going  to — 
east.  His  old  resentment  against  all  redmen  boiled  up 
in  him,  and  he  gritted  his  teeth  and  clenched  his  fists 
as  he  thought  of  the  atrocities  supposed  to  have  been 
committed  by  them  on  the  land-grabbing  white  savages. 
He  soon  found  that  to  think  of  Indians  was  as  unpleas- 


60  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

ant  as  to  reason  over  the  burned  girl's  condition ;  he 
could  not  fly  from  his  ugly  train  of  thought.  Outside 
the  wind  was  beating  a  weird,  terrible  tattoo  against 
the  house,  and  a  loose  board  in  the  chimney  flapped 
back  and  forth,  making  a  sound  which,  if  he  had  not 
known  what  it  was,  he  could  have  mistaken  for  a 
ghost.  He  didn't  believe  in  ghosts,  in  dreams  and 
tokens,  perhaps  a  little,  but  his  experiences  with  ghosts 
had  been  negative.  While  still  in  his  teens  he  had  gone 
to  court  a  young  lady  on  the  Conestoga,  several  miles 
above  what  was  later  the  scene  of  his  sanguinary 
exploit  with  the  Indian  chief,  and,  remaining  late,  was 
reminded  that  he  would  have  to  pass  a  certain  syca- 
more tree  from  which  a  ghost  was  wont  to  issue  and 
frighten  passersby.  He  had  been  a  courageous  yout'i, 
and  walked  boldly  along  the  lonely  path  until  he 
reached  the  tree.  It  gleamed  white  in  the  starlight, 
and  he  paused  to  look  at  it  and  wait  for  the  appearance 
of  the  ghost.  As  none  came,  he  called  out  in  his  loudest 
tones :  "Ghost,  if  you  are  there,  present  yourself ;  I 
want  to  see  you."  Still  all  was  silence  save  for  the 
slight,  rippling,  flowing  sound  of  the  Conestoga.  He 
then  walked  up  and  poked  with  his  cane  about  the 
tree,  tarried  a  while  longer  to  give  the  ghost  all  the 
time  it  needed  to  materialize,  and  then  resumed  his 
way  towards  Lancaster.  He  felt  more  afraid  of  In- 
dians or  footpads  than  ghosts  for  the  remainder  of 
the  journey. 

The  second  occasion  was  when  he  was  in  hiding  in 
the  Tuscarora  Mountains  after  the  Conestoga  massa- 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  61 

ere.  It  was  at  nightfall,  and,  with  two  fellow  refugees, 
approached  a  substantial  but  tenantless  log  house 
which  stood  in  a  good-sized  clearing  along  one  of  the 
runs  which  was  tributary  to  the  Conococheague. 
"Here  is  a  place  to  spend  the  night  at  last,"  he  said, 
for  all  three  youths  were  footsore.  One  of  his  com- 
panions shook  his  head.  "That's  the  old  McCaleb 
homestead.  It's  haunted.  We  can't  stay  there."  "We 
will  stay  there,"  replied  young  Rostraver.  "And  I'll 
lay  the  ghost  if  he  dares  to  appear  to  us."  Making 
pillows  of  their  great-coats,  they  lay  down  on  the  floor 
in  one  of  the  rooms  and  fell  asleep.  About  midnight 
all  three  were  awakened  by  a  moaning,  wailing  noise 
coming  from  a  room  at  the  end  of  the  corridor.  They 
had  no  lights,  but  the  clergyman  declared  that  he 
would  attack  the  ghost  in  its  lair.  As  he  started  down 
the  dark  hall  a  fresh  outburst  of  moaning  and  groan- 
ing was  heard.  ''Come  back  before  it  is  too  late." 
shouted  his  companions.  "That  only  makes  me  want 
to  meet  that  ghost  the  more,"  said  Rostraver,  as  he 
went  his  way.  As  he  neared  the  open  door  from 
which  the  sounds  had  emanated,  a  new  frenzy  of  wail- 
ing and  screeching  met  his  ears.  He  burst  into  a  loud 
laugh,  and  called  to  his  companions :  "I  have  my 
hands  on  the  ghost,  and  have  laid  him."  Walking  to 
the  window  he  seized  a  thick  mass  of  paper  that  had 
been  laid  sheet  upon  sheet  to  cover  the  opening  where 
one  of  the  lights  was  missing  ;  the  wind  searching  its 
way  into  these  strips  of  paper  had  caused  the  uncanny 
noises.  He  muttered  to  himself  the  familiar  lines  of 


62  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

his  favorite  poet,  Oliver  Goldsmith,  "A  window 
patched  with  paper  lent  a  ray."  The  three  young  men 
slept  soundly  for  the  rest  of  the  night,  "There  are  no 
ghosts,"  thought  the  old  man  as  he  gazed  from  the 
floor  to  the  sleeping  form  of  his  great-granddaughter, 
or  listened  to  the  banshee-like  wailing  of  the  wind,  or 
the  slow,  leisurely  ticking  of  the  old  Irish  clock  in  the 
hallway  below.  "I  am  as  convinced'  of  that  as  any 
Sadduccee  of  old."  As  he  listened  to  the  clock,  the 
tick-tock  seemed  to  grow  louder.  "That  cannot  be  the 
clock,"  lie  muttered.  "It's  some  one  walking  below 
stairs,  raid  coming  this  way."  The  door  leading  from 
the  sick  room  was  kept  open  so  that  the  servant  who 
slept  in  a  nearby  room  could  readily  hear  any  sum- 
mons. As  the  old  man  listened  he  could  hear  footsteps 
coming  up  the  staircase,  soft  foot-falls,  like  some  one 
in  stocking  feet.  At  the  same  time  the  injured  girl 
awoke  and  raised'  herself  up  a  little,  rubbing  her  eyes. 
Nearer  and  nearer  came  the  footsteps.  "Can  it  be  old 
Maggie  walking  in  her  sleep?"  conjured  the  church- 
man. Nearer  and  nearer  the  footsteps  came  ;  the  visitor 
must  l>e  on  the  landing,  and  only  a  few  paces  from  the 
door.  Rostraver,  who  had  been  sitting  with  his  back 
to  the  door,  facing  the  bed,  turned  about,  and  to  his 
dismay  saw  standing  in  the  doorway  the  stalwart  form 
of  an  Indian  chief  in  full  regalia,  Tenessedaga  of  the 
Conoys.  The  sick  girl  also  saw  the  apparition,  but 
was  too  dazed  by  her  painful  condition  to  make  an 
outcry.  The  old  clergyman  was  too  amazed  at  first  to 
speak.  The  Indian  stood  there  at  "parade  rest,"  lean- 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  63 


ing  on  the  barrel  of  his  long  rifle,  and  looking  stead- 
fastly at  the  old  man.  Rostraver  was  seated  in  an 
awkward  position  for  defense,  yet  for  several  moments 
he  could  not  bring  himself  to  move.  Then  he  turned 
about  and  sprang  to  his  feet,  his  long,  gaunt  figure 
spreading  wierd  shadows  on  the  walls,  as  bold  and 
bellingerent  as  of  yore.  The  wind  was  howling  dread- 
fully, and  the  board  in  the  chimney  was  pounding 
faster  and  faster ;  the  old  man,  with  both  fists  tightly 
clenched,  and  trembling  with  rage,  spoke  at  the  top  of 
his  voice  to  be  heard  above  the  gale :  "What  do  you 
mean  by  coming  here  at  this  hour  of  the  night,  leering 
like  a  Ninnihammer.  If  you  are  God,  you  will  not 
hurt  us;  if  you  are  the  devil,  go  to  hell;  if  you  are  a 
man,  I'll  break  your  head!"  These  words  uttered,  he 
raised  his  long  arm  and  shook  his  bony  fist  at  the  mid- 
night intruder.  But  the  Indian  remained  in  the  door- 
way imperturbable.  The  unseemly  episode  brought 
the  suffering  girl  back  to  complete  consciousness. 
"What  does  that  Indian  want,  grandfather?"  she  said, 
as  she  tugged  at  one  of  the  tails  of  the  old  man's  broad- 
cloth coat.  "I'll  soon  find  out,  if  he  doesn't  answer." 
said  the  clergyman,  breaking  loose  and  striding  towards 
the  fireplace.  There  were  no  sticks  in  the  wood-box, 
and  the  logs  in  the  fireplace  were  almost  coals,  so  laying 
hold  of  one  of  the  iron  fire-dogs  by  its  head  he  swung 
it  in  the  air  and  hurled  it  across  the  room  at  the  immo- 
bile redman.  The  fire-dog  struck  the  floor  with  a 
heavy  thud,  the  Indian  gave  the  old  man  a  look  v/huii 
seemed  to  go  through  his  very  vitals,  then  turned  on 


64  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

lils  heel  and  slowly  passed  along  the  hall  and  up  the 
stairs  leading  to  the  attic.  Meanwhile  Maggie  Gleim, 
aroused  by  the  thud,  rushed  into  the  room.  "Who  was 
that  man  I  passed  in  the  hall?"  she  fairly  screamed. 
Old  Rostraver  was  very  calm ;  he  was  never  cooler 
when  a  fugitive  with  a  price  on  his  head  or  under  fire 
in  the  fiercest  battles  of  the  Revolution.  "We  will  see," 
he  said.  "You  stay  here  with  Jodie,  while  I  go  up- 
stairs to  investigate."  Maggie  had  brought  her  candle 
with  her,  which  the  old  man  took  from  her  hand's,  and, 
unarmed  as  he  was,  he  started  for  the  gloomy  attic. 
He  looked  into  every  nook  and  corner,  behind  every 
pile  of  timbers,  or  musty  books,  or  old  furniture,  and 
even  inside,  of  the  big  oaken  chests,  but  no  one  was  to 
be  seen,  and  there  was  no  way  out  except  through  the 
trap-door  leading  to  the  roof.  Yet  the  old  man  would 
not  be  convinced  that  he  had  seen  a  ghost,  for  he  lin- 
gered and  poked  about  in  the  attic  until  the  old  Irish 
clock  sent  its  single  echo  upstairs,  "one  o'clock." 
Haffled,  but  admitting  nothing,  he  returned  to  his  great- 
granddaughter's  sick  room.  "Was  it  an  Indian  ? ' 
said  the  girl.  "Was  it  a  ghost?"  said  Maggie  Gleim. 
"I  don't  know  what  it  was,"  replied  Rostraver;  "pos- 
sibly neither.  It  will  take  some  time  to  determine." 

The  serving- woman  had  replaced  the  fire-dog,  and 
soon  retired  to  her  own  room,  and'  the  aged  clergyman 
resumed  his  vigil  by  Jodie's  bedside.  The  wind  beat  a 
terrific  fury  about  the  eaves,  and  the  loose  board,  like 
a  guilty  heart,  hammered  incessantly  in  the  chimney. 
''Woo.  woo,  woo,  joh-hoh,  joh-hoh.  joh-hoh,"  now 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN   SKETCHES  65 

Deemed    its   maddening    refrain,    the   very    words   and 
tone  of  the  war  cry  of  Conestogas  and  Conoys. 

Reverend  Simon  Rostraver  bowed  his  hoary  head. 
Before  him  arose  the  picture  of  the  shrieking,  pleading 
Indian  women  and  children,  running  hither  and  thither 
with  the  sturdy  Paxton  boys  beating  out  their  brains 
with  the  butts  of  their  rifles,  a  memory  which  his  soul 
could  not  blot  out,  the  chieftain  he  had  shot  down  in 
cold  blood  when  he  tried  to  protect  the  weak  and  the 
aged,  it  was  all  too  terrible,  and  his  sixty  years  of 
preaching  of  the  Gospel  of  Forgiveness  seemed  like  a 
drop  of  water  in  a  sea  of  blood,  his  ocean  of  iniquity. 
Just  as  his  thoughts  were  at  their  most  melancholy 
level,  the  big  brass  knocker  on  the  front  door  began  to 
pound  violently.  Before  the  old  man  could  decide 
what  to  do,  Maggie  Gleim  was  in  the  hall  with  a  rush- 
light, hurrying  to  the  door.  From  the  head  of  the 
stairs  the  old  man  could  hear  the  voices  of  his  daugh- 
ter and  the  mother  of  the  sick  girl.  They  ran  up  the 
stairs,  almost  tripping  over  their  long,  fur-tipped 
wraps.  Poor  Jodie  rose  up  in  bed,  clapping  her  hands 
at  the  sight  of  them.  "We  all  had  such  a  strange 
dream  last  night,"  the  new  arrivals  chorused.  "An 
Indian  chief  in  full  regalia  came  to  our  bedsides  and 
told  us  that  Jodie  was  seriously  sick,  and  to  go  home 
at  once.  When  we  awoke,  no  one,  was  to  be  seen.  We 
started  away  this  morning,  but  the  roads  were  so 
drifted  with  snow,  and  the  horses  so  weak,  we  were 
stalled  six  or  seven  times.  As  it  is,  the  team  is  now 
stuck  in  a  drift  two  miles  down  the  road.  We  posi- 


66 SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

lively  could  not  wait,  so  left  father  and  Black  George 
to  get  them  out,  and  plowed  our  way  through  to  get 
here." 

Rev.  Simon  Rostraver  stood'  eyeing  the  women,  can- 
dle in  hand,  in  breathless  amazement,  as  did  the  old 
serving-woman.  "That  Indian  has  been  here  to- 
night," firmly  said  the  old  man.  "I  thought  he  meant 
us  evil,  so  1  fired  one  of  the  andirons  at  him,  and 
followed  him  to  the  garret,  resolved  to  choke  him  and 
throw  him  out  of  the  house."  "Then  you  weren't 
dreaming  when  you  saw  him?"  said  Jodie's  mother, 
excitedly.  "I  saw  him,"  said  the  sick  girl.  "And  I, 
too,  saw  him,"  said  old  Maggie  Gleim.  "Who  do  you 
think  he  could  have  been,  father?"  said  the  burned 
girl's  mother.  "I  know  very  well  who  he  was,  I  can 
never  forget  that  face  from  the  Work  House  at  Lan- 
caster when  I  shot  him  down  when  he  sought  to  stand 
between  me  and  some  women  I  was  knocking  the  brains 
out  of.  It  all  goes  to  prove  what  I  have  been  preach- 
ing these  sixty  years,  that  there  is  only  love  and  for- 
giveness when  once  we  are  released  from  the  bonds  of 
the  flesh." 


V.    The  White  Lady  of  Pomfret  Castle 

WHERE  was  Pomfret  Castle?  Though  one  of  the 
earliest  and  most  important  of  the  frontier  forts, 
it  alone  is  undesignated  on  the  maps  of  the  Co- 
lonial period,  and  even  an  exact  work  like  the  "Report 
on  the  Frontier  Forts  of  Pennsylvania,"  published  in 
1895,  treats  the  historic  structure  almost  as  a  myth. 
Various  historians  have  tried  to  find  locations  for  it ; 
some  have  placed  it  in  the  South  Mountains,  others  in 
the  vicinity  of  Fort  Littleton  in  the  Big  Cove,  while 
more  have  declared  that  it  was  on  Cocalamus  Creek  or 
along  the  Susquehanna.  Surely  the  fort  did  exist,  for 
it  is  frequently  alluded  to  in  history,  and  was  it  not 
from  its  immediate  vicinity  that  the  celebrated  Patt 
Mitcheltree  was  carried  oft  by  six  Indians  in  broad 
daylight  in  175(>?  There  is  an  old  foundation  of  vast 
proportions,  with  a  subterranean  passage  leading  to 
the  river  hank,  which  some  stoutly  declare  was  the 
site  of  the  real  Pomfret  Castle.  On  it,  some  forty- 
five  years  ago,  a  great  square  hotel  of  brick  was 
erected,  in  the  expectation  of  catering  to  the  travel 
between  the  Juniata  and  Susquehanna  Valleys.  From 
the  first  it  proved  a  failure,  as  it  stood  a  quarter  mile 
off  the  main  highway,  and  the  rutty,  grass-grown  lane 
never  looked  inviting  to  the  public.  At  nightfall, 
when  most  belated  travelers  are  looking  for  accommo- 
dations, it  was  nearlv  invisible  from  the  main  road  and 
the  river,  screened  by  giant  oaks  and  birches,  blending 
nto  the  dark  and  sombre  landscape.  A  single  light 

67 


68  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

from  the  window  of  the  "out-kitchen,"  added  on  a  year 
after  the  main  edifice  was  completed,  flickered  through 
the  gloom  towards  the  pike,  a  veritable  "star  of  the 
glen,"  but  too  small  a  gleam  against  the  blackness  of 
the  oncoming  dusk  to  tempt  the  wayfarer  to  turn  off 
the  broad  highway,  with  the  wonderfully  kept  hostelry 
of  Pete  Owens  at  Liverpool  only  a  few  miles  distant. 

For  twenty  years  it  has  been  practically  deserted ; 
this  year  a  family  is  occupying  the  kitchen  structure, 
but  when  night  comes  on,  and  the  giant  trees  wave 
their  gaunt  branches,  and  the  wind  blows  in  sharp 
gusts,  it  seems  a  place  to  be  shunned  by  all  except 
lovers  of  the  ghostly  and  the  mysterious.  It  was  an 
error  of  judgment  to  construct  such  a  huge  building 
in  such  an  out-of-the-way  locality,  but  the  architect 
who  designed  it  was  evidently  a  person  of  taste,  and 
must  be  commended  on  his  results.  The  neighboring 
mountain  people  considered  it  poor  judgment  to  put 
any  buildings  on  the  foundations  of  the  old  fort.  "The 
ghosts  are  there,  and  there  will  never  be  any  peace  for 
any  one  who  lives  in  such  surroundings,"  was  the  re- 
mark of  many  an  old  man  and  woman  as  they  watched 
the  structure  going  up.  But  all  its  sins  are  forgiven 
by  its  architectural  uniqueness. 

Huge  and  square  as  it  is,  with  a  flat  roof  and  long, 
narrow  windows,  it  is  like  some  old  hacienda  in  Spain, 
and  might  resemble  the  ancient  manor  so  admirably 
described  by  Stevenson  in  his  eerie  tale  of  "Olalla." 
If  outwardly  it  savors  of  the  old  world,  and  the  realms 
of  romance,  inwardly  it  is  even  more  weirdly  fascinat- 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  69 

ing.  In  the  centre  of  the  house  is  a  vast  corridor, 
with  winding  staircase,  the  banisters  of  walnut  and 
curiously  carved.  On  one  side  is  a  store  building,  but 
the  staircase  does  not  lead  to  any  of  the  rooms  on  that 
wing ;  they  are  completely  cut  off  from  the  other  parts 
of  the  house.  The  stairway  leads  to  corridors  on  the 
second  and  third  floors,  honeycombed  by  many  rooms, 
large  and  small,  and  a  vast  garret,  the  size  of  the  entire 
house — one  of  the  most  melancholy  and  ghostly  old 
lumber  rooms  imaginable.  On  the  first  floor  are  two 
large  parlors,  with  a  grille  between,  handsome  high- 
ceilinged  apartments  fit  for  the  abode  of  an  Alcalde. 
Above  the  store,  which  also  contained  a  post  office  for 
several  years,  is  a  large  ball  room,  with  benches  ranged 
about  the  walls,  high-ceilinged  and  with  long  windows 
like  those  in  a  country  church.  The  only  egress  from 
this  ball  room  is  from  a  hallway  in  the  rear  which 
leads  to  a  stairway  which  ascends  to  a  number  of 
rooms  above  and  behind  the  ball  room,  and  descending 
leads  into  a  corridor  back  of  the  post  office,  which  was 
at  the  rear  of  the  store  building.  There  is  a  door  from 
this  corridor  leading  into  the  more  lately  constructed 
"back  kitchen,"  and  doors  from  this  kitchen  lead  into 
the  great  main  hallway  and  into  the  back  parlor,  but 
apart  from  these,  the  two  halves  of  the  great  house  are 
separate  and  distinct. 

There  is  nothing  more  depressing  than  a  disused  store, 
with  empty  show-cases,  counters  and  shelves,  the  floor 
strewn  with  old  newspapers,  almanacs  and  torn  pages 
of  account  books — a  dull  lull  where  once  was  the  busy 


70 


mart  of  trade.  And  an  abandoned  post  office  is  even 
more  dispiriting — the  little  window  where  so  many 
hopes  have  been  raised  or  lowered,  the  pigeon-holes 
once  crammed  with  farm  papers,  catalogues  and  news- 
papers, and  fewer  letters — some  of  them  sent  to  shat- 
ter the  greatest  hopes  of  love — the  avenue  of  contact 
between  the  mountain  folks  and  the  outside  world, 
now  as  empty  and  black  and  hopeless  as  the  letters 
that  never  came.  On  the  table  back  of  the  letter  win- 
dow, the  old  metal  cancelling  stamps  are  still  lying, 
and  the  drawers  from  which  postage  stamps  were 
counted  half  open  but  empty.  Perhaps  some  phil- 
atelist, with  a  good  "bull's-eye"  and  plenty  of  time,  in 
delving  among  drawers  and  pigeon-holes,  and  under 
the  boxes  and  barrels  which  clutter  the  place,  might 
unearth  many  stamps  of  "Centennial  Year''  or  others 
of  even  greater  rarity.  Casselman's  Bar  P.  O. — for 
such  it  was  called — is  no  longer  found  in  the  Postal 
Guides,  and  the  simple  dwellers  in  the  surrounding 
hills  have  lost  a  social  centre  by  its  premature  aban- 
donment. 

The  place  never  paid.  That  was  the  prime  cause  for 
its  going  out  of  business.  It  was  folly  to  locate  a  store, 
dance  hall,  hotel  and  post  office  off  a  main  thorough- 
fare where  the  best  paying  travel  passed  it  unnoticed, 
and  it  never  became  popular  with  the  watermen,  being 
too  far  inland.  The  magnificent  foundation,  with  its 
huge  cellarways,  had  tempted  Jake  Heiser  to  build, 
but.  nothing  was  gained  by  its  possession,  and  the  rows 
of  empty  whiskey  barrels  and  racks  of  empty  wine 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES        71 


bottles  tell  of  a  stock  that  was  here  disposed  of  slowly, 
but  which  would  have  made  the  landlord  rich  if  he  had 
located  on  the  pike. 

But  it  was  the  ghosts  that  really  closed  the  I>ar 
Hotel;  one  ghost  in  particular  was  chiefly  responsible. 
Even  from  the  night  the  house  was  first  opened  noises 
were  heard  in  the  cellar.  "Neighbor  boys  after  wine," 
the  landlord  thought,  for  he  had  kept  open  house,  with 
open  taps  on  that  wild  initial  night.  I  kit  on  repairing  to 
the  cellar  all  was  locked  as  he  had  left  it.  As  a  precau- 
tion he  blocked  up  with  oak  planking  the  subterranean 
passage-way  to  the  river,  but  could  not  quiet  the  mys- 
terious noises  below  stairs.  After  a  while  the  entire 
household  got  used  to  these  subterranean  ghosts. 
"They  date  from  the  days  when  the  old  fort  stood  on 
the  foundations,"  said  Cephas  Meily,  the  oldest  man 
in  the  neighborhood,  and  he  ought  to  know.  In  order 
to  make  up  for  the  lack  of  transient  travel,  the  land- 
lord made  a  specialty  of  chicken  and  waffle  and  ham 
and  egg  suppers,  advertising  in  the  town  papers,  and 
gradually  a  select  trade  of  this  kind  made  its  rendez- 
vous at  the  hotel.  The  stables  were  on  as  big  a  scale  as 
the  house,  and  sleighing  parties  and  straw  rides  found 
ideal  accommodations  there.  In  the  summer  months 
parties  of  young  people,  properly  chaperoned,  would 
stop  at  the  hotel  for  a  week  at  a  time.  The  rooms 
were  large  and  airy ;  there  was  an  excellent  table ;  the 
canoeing  on  the  river  and  berrypicking  and  mountain 
climbing,  and  trout  fishing  in  the  brook,  made  plenty 
of  amusement  all  day  long.  In  the  evening  the  long 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


shutters  of  the  great  churchly  windows  of  the  ball 
room  over  the  store  would  be  thrown  open,  and  the 
gay  young  people  generally  danced  until  daybreak. 

An  old  half-Indian  named  Casper  Loop,  who  ap- 
peared mysteriously  at  the  hotel  the  night  it  was 
opened,  and  left  the  night  it  was  closed,  and  who  acted 
as  hostler  and  handy-man  by  day,  sang  and  played  the 
dulcimer,  rendering  a  type  of  music  rare  as  it  was 
attractive.  On  one  occasion  two  such  primitive 
"house  parties"  (there  were  no  "cottages"  or  "bunga- 
lows" in  the  mountains  those  clays),  made  up  of  the 
younger  sets  from  two  towns  to  the  south  of  Cassel- 
man's  Bar,  were  stopping  at  the  hotel.  They  were 
young  people  occupying  relatively  the  same  social  posi- 
tion in  their  respective  communities,  so  they  soon  met 
on  very  friendly  terms. 

When  the  parties  arrived  at  the  hotel,  there  were 
several  couples  in  each  group  who  imagined  them- 
selves madly  in  love  with  one  another.  They  had  not 
been  long  under  the  same  roof  when  the  most  deeply 
involved  began  casting  glances  at  members  of  the  other 
party,  for  all  were  very  young.  The  quest  was  now 
to  become  acquainted,  so  that  the  girls  in  one  party 
soon  were  constantly  in  the  society  of  the  boys  of  the 
other,  and  vice  versa. 

There  was  one  couple  who  were  on  the  point  of  an- 
nouncing their  engagement,  and  were  so  constantly 
together  that  they  were  almost  the  same  as  extra  chap- 
erones.  The  young  man  had  never  swerved  in  his  de- 
votion until  he  arrived  at  the  hotel.  Then  he  saw  a 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  73 


brunette  in  the  other  party  who  interested  him,  and  it 
gave  him  a  peculiar  pleasure  to  make  his  beloved  un- 
easy and  jealous.  The  girl  in  the  other  party  was  slim 
and  very  dark,  and'  had  a  downcast  look,  and  could  not 
look  one  in  the  eyes  like  the  candid,  blue-eyed,  brown- 
haired  girl  who  was  unswerving  in  her  love.  She  de- 
served better  treatment,  but  many  of  the  best  of  persons 
have  been  made  to  suffer  slights  in  love,  and  she  was 
no  exception.  The  house-party,  instead  of  being  a 
delight,  became  a  period  of  torture.  She  was  heart- 
broken most  of  all,  yet  humiliation  entered  largely  into 
her  grief.  She  had  held  her  lover  in  such  high  esteem, 
he  had  never  been  known  to  notice  another  girl ;  some 
of  her  friends  had  called  him  "Old  Trusty,"  from  his 
avowed  fidelity.  Now  all  was  changed.  He  made  no 
secret  of  his  devotion  to  the  dark  girl,  was  with  her 
whenever  he  could,  and  on  several  occasions  arranged 
trysts  along  the  river  after  his  sweetheart  had  retired. 
It  was  a  desperate  case,  and  the  chaperones  of  both 
parties  discussed  it  in  undertones,  how  it  could  be 
"broken  up"  and  normal  conditions  revived.  All  were 
watching  its  progress  and  noting  the  daily  wilting 
and  sorrowing  of  the  neglected  one.  The  rejected 
felt  so  chagrined  that  she  kept  out  of  sight  whenever 
possible,  even  consorting  with  the  help  in  the  kitchen 
as  a  pretext  to  remain  in  seclusion. 

On  one  occasion  she  noted  the  cook  cleaning  her 
great  zinc  ''sink"  with  some  carbolic  acid  from  a  small 
bottle,  and  saw  her  stow  it  away  in  the  corner  cupboard 
after  she  was  finished.  "I  could  end  my  misery," 


74  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


throught  the  wretched  girl,  ''with  what  that  woman 
poured  down  the  drain ;  it  is  a  good  material  wasted/' 
She  even  tried  to  get  up  a  flirtation  with  one  of  the 
unmatched  lads  in  her  own  party,  but  when  she  was 
with  him  she  kept  watching  her  faithless  lover  so  con- 
tinually that  her  feigned  interest  in  another  was  but 
a  transparent  fraud.  It  so  happened  that  as  both  par- 
ties were  to  "break  up"  within  a  day  of  one  another,  it 
was  decided  to  have  a  joint  dance  in  the  ball  room  the 
"last  night"  to  terminate  the  joyous  holiday.  The  old 
dulcimer  player  was  reinforced  by  two  fiddlers,  so  as 
to  have  continuous  music  all  night  long. 

It  proved  to  be  a  glorious  affair  to  all  except  the 
discarded  girl.  She  received  the  most  open  slights  that 
night,  left  as  a  "wall  flower"  while  her  erstwhile  lover 
would  dance  eight  dances  in  succession  with  her  rival. 
Her  earlier  and  marked  preference  for  her  former 
lover  had  caused  the  other  lads  to  be  indifferent,  and 
now  that  she  was  free,  they  kept  up  the  custom  of 
avoiding  her.  She  sat  on  one  of  the  benches  against 
the  wall,  a  picture  of  misery.  Her  round,  girlish  face 
was  crimson,  and  she  kept  fanning  herself,  complain- 
ing to  every  one  of  the  heat,  though  all  the  windows 
were  open,  and  a  constant  breeze  blew  in  from  the 
river,  almost  a  gale.  Sometimes  she  held  the  fan  be- 
fore her  face  longer  than  was  necessary,  to  hide  the 
tears  that  would  not  stay  back  and  which  she  would 
later  wipe  away  with  her  little  lace  handkerchief  as 
"perspiration."  It  was  galling  to  her  to  watch  her 
"paragon"  whirling  around  and  around  with  a  girl  who 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  75 


seemed  so  callous  and  unworthy.  She  longed  for  the 
sympathy  of  her  girl  friends,  but  when  they  tried  to 
be  affectionate  and  consoling  pride  rebelled  and  she 
held  them  at  a  distance.  She  heard  the  tall  clock  in 
the  front  hall  chime  twelve.  It  was  during  an  inter- 
mission, and  its  sonorous  tones  came  through  the  open 
door  below  and  were  wafted  through  the  long  win- 
dows. She  was  attempting  to  appear  gay,  drinking 
leim.nade  with  the  boy  with  whom  she  had  tried  to  flirt. 
Rut  everywhere  she  looked  she  saw  her  lover  dancing 
attention  to  her  rival,  the  dark  girl's  air  of  triumph ; 
it  was  all  too  much,  and  she  felt  dizzy.  Just  then  the 
music  began,  and  she  asked  to  be  excused,  and  in  the 
excitement  of  choosing  partners  she  slipped  out  the 
back  door. 

( )n  a  shelf  in  the  corridor  she  found  a  row  of  candles  ; 
taking  one  that  was  lit  she  started  down  the  narrow, 
winding  stairway.  She  was  soon  in  the  back  kitchen, 
and  in  sight  of  the  corner  cupboard.  She  approached 
it  and  opened  it  cautiously — the  little  bottle  of  deadly 
poison  was  still  there.  She  seized  the  vial,  drew  the 
cork  and  held  it  to  the  light.  There  was  not  much  left 
in  it,  but  enough  to  take  her  across  the  Styx,  she  rea- 
soned. She  recorked  it,  and  hiding  it  in  the  hollow  of 
her  hand  with  her  handkerchief,  stood  undecided  a 
moment.  Should  she  go  to  the  cellar — the  door  stood 
before  her — or  go  upstairs?  The  cellar  was  dark  and 
inhospitable,  so  she  moved  through  the  main  hull  and 
up  the  broad  staircase,  the  hand  with  the  bottle  in  it 
rubbing  along  the  walnut  balustrade,  making  a  peculiar 


76  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

noise,  the  other  holding  aloft  the  candle  in  its  tiny 
brass  dish.  She  reached  the  first  landing  and  passed 
her  own  room ;  at  a  door  nearer  the  front  of  the  house 
she  paused.  It  was  her  lover's  chamber,  and  the  door 
was  ajar.  She  entered  and  closed  the  door.  The 
candle  light  showed  the  young  man's  other  clothes  in 
disarray  about  the  floor.  She  gathered  them  up  ten- 
derly and  placed  them  neatly  on  a  chair.  Then  she 
looked  in  the  mirror  of  the  marble-topped  dressing 
stand,  so  popular  in  those  days.  Her  face  was  no 
longer  flushed  ubaby  red,"  but  was  almost  as  pale  as 
death.  She  arranged  her  hair  carefully,  and  smoothed 
her  white  satin  gown.  Then  she  placed  the  candle  on 
the  dresser  and  climbed  carefully  on  the  bed,  reclining 
at  full  length.  She  raised  the  carbolic  acid  bottle  to 
her  lips  and  took  a  great  gulp.  There  was  an  involun- 
tary cry  of  pain,  and  she  tossed  from  side  to  side, 
trying  to  die  quietly  and  bravely,  but  the  agony  was 
excruciating.  Soon  the  merciful  Dark  Angel  drew  the 
curtain,  and  the  candle  flickered  on  the  corpse's  face, 
the  lips  and  chin  frightfully  burned  and  scarred,  but 
otherwise  she  was  beautiful  in  the  calmness  of  death. 

The  candle  was  almost  burned  into  its  socket  when 
whispered  voices  were  heard  in  the  hall.  A  feminine 
voice  was  saying,  "I  don't  want  to  go  in  ;  there's  a  light 
burning ;  some  one  must  be  there  now."  Then  a  man's 
voice  replied.  "Come  in  ;  that  must  be  a  candle  I  left 
burning  when  I  changed  my  clothes."  Then  the  youth 
threw  one  arm  about  the  girl's  shoulder,  turned  the 
knob  and  drew  her  into  the  room.  As  they  came 


77 


through  the  door  he  held  aloft  a  candle.  "I  told  you 
so,"  said  the  girl ;  "there's  your  fiancee  lying  on  the 
bed.  She's  fallen  asleep  waiting  for  you."  The  youth 
was  non-plussed ;  his  former  sweetheart  had  surely 
showed  her  great  love  openly,  yet  this  was  the  first  time 
that  she  had  been  indiscreet;  if  she  woke  suddenly  and 
found  her  rival  in  the  room  there  would  be  trouble. 
He  neared  the  bed  only  to  draw  back  in  horror.  He 
noted  the  awful  livid  scars  about  her  mouth,  the 
empty  bottle  by  her  side,  the  greenish  pallor  of  death. 
The  dark  girl  was  now  close  by  his  side.  One  glimpse 
told  her  the  story.  She  ran  pell  mell  from  the  room, 
and  to  her  own  room,  where  she  jumped  into  bed  with 
her  clothes  on  and  pulled  the  patch-work  haps  over 
her  head. 

There  seemed  to  be  no  other  course  open  for  the 
young  man  but  to  gather  up  the  dead  girl  in  his  arms 
and  carry  her  to  her  own  room.  All  the  other  dancers 
had'  retired  earlier,  the  corridors  were  still.  He  laid 
her  on  the  bed  with  the  empty  poison  bottle  beside  her, 
then  returned  to  his  own  room,  leisurely  undressed 
and  retired.  He  slept  the  sleep  of  the  soulless  until 
nearly  noon  the  next  day,  when  he  went  downstairs 
looking  as  fresh  as  if  nothing  had  happened.  He  saw 
a  jaded  party.  All  were  not  down  yet,  but  those  who 
were  had  danced  themselves  into  inertia.  Few  of  the 
girls  looked  attractive ;  their  hair  hung  in  stiff  strands, 
they  were  black  under  their  eyes  and  sallow  from  the 
night  of  gayety.  Comment  was  made  at  dinner  time 
at  the  discarded  sweetheart's  tardy  appearance. 


78  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

One  of  the  chaperones  went  up  and  knocked  at  the 
door.  No  response.  She  knocked  again.  Taking  the 
door-knob  she  turned  it.  The  door  was  not  locked. 
She  entered.  The  shutters  were  closed,  but  she  could 
see  the  girl  extended  on  the  bed  fully  clad.  Drawing 
near  she  saw  the  ugly  black  scars,  the  empty  bottle. 
With  a  series  of  shrieks  she  ran  out  of  the  room  and 
down  the  hall,  alarming  every  one  in  the  house.  Soon 
the  halls  and  the  room  were  thronged  with  members 
of  both  "house  parties,,"  and  none  seemed  more  sur- 
prised than  the  one-time  lover  and  his  dark  enamorita. 
There  were  some  level-headed  persons  in  the  crowd. 
Their  counsels  prevailed.  They  were  all  people  of 
prominence.  The  suicide  must  be  kept  secret ;  the  girl's 
family  would  concur  if  they  knew  the  facts.  It  must 
go  out  this  way :  The  girl  always  had  weak  lungs ;  she 
was  subject  to  hemorrhages ;  she  had  had  one  and  died, 
doubtless  due  to  overtaxing  herself  at  the  ball. 

In  those  clays  coroners  were  complaisant  and,  as 
new,  political  influence  counted  a  let,  and  social  position 
more — "quality,"  as  the  mountain  folks  called  it,  must 
not  he  compromised  at  any  cost.  The  parents  concur- 
red in  the  plot.  The  girl  wa,s  taken  home  and  buried, 
and  a  score  of  young  people  of  leading  families  in  two 
southern  Pennsylvania  towns,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
two  staid  chaperones,  again  breathed  easily.  It  is 
wonderful  how  well-bred  people  stand  together  in  a 
sort  of  freemasonry  to  shield  their  kind,  no  matter 
how  black  the  crimes ;  if  the  perpetrators  turn  out  to 
be  what  they  dub  "gentlemen"  or  "ladies,"  all  is  min- 


West  Entrance 

to 
Caledonia  Park 


M  -   -.vfii'L  up  ;j;ui  k;  "M.vrr  at  the 

l:\^  Knocked  again.     T«.i\!ng  the 

it.     ':"hrr  door   \vas   not   locked. 

Ute-s  %.v*-i'i'  closed,  but  siu-  ;"«.nild 

•!  'I;-.  "n:ii  fiillv  clad.     Drawing 

;.  ;.car^.  t.hir  empty   botik. 

k         i1  ran  ovil  of  the  room  aau 

• .  one  in  I1;u:  l','')U>e.     Soon 

;:sr(;,iu"'.  :1  \^itli  members 

;   ;ii  ••!(:  ^c  c-ir- .  d  'n-  »rc  sur- 


ol 


,       ';  ' ':.     •  -i    tl'c" 

-•i>.  Jl        i~ 

'*    •    r.:cUi.rr    in    n 
no   Mntk-r 

1    •    \\\r\-    iVJ!     I'-1 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  79 

imized  and'  condoned,  if  not  denied  altogether.  Such 
are  the  advantages  of  Prestige !  See  Lewis  Leopold's 
great  book  on  this  subject. 

But  hushing  up  the  story  of  the  suicide  of  one  of  the 
country's  most  aristocratic  belles  from  pique  at  a  love 
disappointment  did  not  lay  her  miserable  ghost.  The 
pain  that  lasts  through  life  was  transferred  to  another 
world  to  canker.  Every  Thursday  night  at  the  mid- 
night hour  the  rustle  of  a  satin  gown  is  heard  on  the 
long  stairway  leading  from  the  ball  room  to  the  back 
kitchen  ;  the  door  of  the  corner  cupboard  swings  open 
and  shuts,  and  the  swish  of  skirts  and  the  patter  of 
slippered1  feet  is  heard  in  the  great  hall.  Then  comes  a 
sound  as  if  a  bottle  was  being  scraped  along  the 
balustrades,  a  door  opens  and  shuts,  there  comes  a 
weird  cry,  then  all  is  still,  but  the  falling  of  the  river 
or  the  "hoo.  hoo,  boo"  of  the  great  horned  owls  re- 
assuring one  another  among  the  great  dark  oaks  and 
birches  which  screen  the  old  house  from  the  river. 

Intimations  of  a  dark  tragedy  can  hurt  a  hotel  al- 
most as  much  as  an  open  declaration ;  never  too  well 
patronized,  the  hostelry  received  what  the  moun- 
taineers call  a  "black  eye"  and  declined  stead'ily.  The 
post-office  was  closed  for  lack  of  patronage.  The 
landlord  moved  out  the  spring  following  the  alleged 
suicide.  He  was  tired  of  hearing  ghosts  in  the  cellar; 
a  new  one  upstairs  was  one  too  many.  Another  tenant 
could  not  be  found,  and  the  great  fortress-like  Spanish 
house  built  on  the  foundations  of  historic  Pomfret 
Castle  was  left  to  its  ghostly  occupants. 


80 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


Within  the  past  year  a  family  has  moved  into  the 
back  kitchen.  They  d'o  not  like  the  ghost  of  the  White 
Lady,  as  they  call  her,  passing  through  their  room,  or 
rummaging  in  their  cupboard,  nor  do  the  noises  in  the 
dismal  cellars  below  agree  with  them — but  the  rent  is 
low,  probably  only  a  couple  of  dollars  a  month,  there 
is  a  good  garden  and  truck  patch,  good  water,  and  a 
spacious  barn,  and  handy  to  work,  so  they  are  willing 
to  endure  the  spooks. 

It  is  said  that  when  the  youth  responsible  for  the  fair 
girl's  tragic  death,  now  a  respected  citizen  and  bank 
president,  passes  along  the  pike  at  dusk,  and  his  rest- 
less glances  note  the  ruddy  gleam  in  the  kitchen  win- 
dow of  tlie  great  house  down  the  lane,  he  orders  the 
chauffeur  of  his  big  Fierce-Arrow  to  put  en  topmost 
speed  ;  he  has  an  important  meeting  he  must  hurry  to 
at  Harrisburg. 


VI.    The  Lost  Valley 

IT  IS  surprising  how  general  is  the  story  of  a  lost 
valley,  located  in  a  remote  section  of  the  Pennsyl- 
vania Mountains  where  the  various  species  of  wild 
game  have  taken  refuge,  waiting  until  a  time  when  they 
can  emerge  and  live  in  a  state  of  safety.  In  all  sec- 
tions of  the  Commonwealth  the  legend  is  whispered 
by  the  old  hunters,  and  is  sincerely  believed. 

There  is  a  similar  story  told  concerning  Monte 
Rosa,  in  the  Italian  Alps,  of  how  several  bold  hunters 
became  lost  among  the  mountains,  and,  peering  over  a 
great  precipice,  seemingly  in  the  very  heart  of  the 
giant  peak,  beheld  a  verdant  valley,  teeming  with  the 
ibex  and  other  game  long  vanished  from  most  parts  of 
the  Alpine  regions. 

Few  are  the  persons  who  have  gazed  upon  the  Lost 
Valley  of  Pennsylvania,  and  those  who  have  come  to  it 
through  sheer  stupidity  or  accident.  It  cannot  be 
found  through  quest  by  a  person  in  his  right  senses,  for 
the  Genius  of  the  mountain  bewilders  and  drives  away 
all  seekers  for  this  delectable  region.  Well  does  the 
writer  recall  not  one  but  three  attempts  to  reach  the 
supposed  vicinity  of  the  Lost  Valley,  only  to  fail, 
despite  the  leadership  of  such  competent  guides  and1 
mountaineers  as  Jake  Zimmerman  and  Jesse  Phillips 
and  others.  The  writer's  search  was  not  to  find  the 
Lost  Valley,  but  to  visit  a  supposed  beaver  working  at 
the  head  of  one  of  the  branches  of  Lick  Run.  It  had 
been  found  by  a  simple-minded  boy  named  Smith, 

81 


82  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


whose  father,  a  lumberman  from  the  Hunter's  Run 
region  of  the  South  Mountains,  had  conducted  a 
logger's  shanty  not  far  from  the  mouth  of  Lick  Run — 
later  occupied  by  our  popular  out-door  Governor 
William  Cryder  Sproul  as  a  hunting  camp  until  de- 
stroyed by  a  mysterious  fire  in  the  fall  of  1917.  It 
remained  for  this  half-witted  boy  not  only  to  visit  the 
beaver  working,  but  to  kill  one  of  the  beavers,  an  act 
of  pure  wantonness,  and  later  to  see  the  Lost  Valley, 
teeming  with  game.  The  writer's  modest  efforts  were 
only  directed  to  find  the  scene  of  the  beaver  working, 
and,  if  located,  to  take  as  natural  history  specimens 
bits  of  the  aspen  trees  felled  by  the  busy  little  workers. 
Two  trips  were  taken  in  the  early  spring  and  one  in 
the  fall,  when  the  leaves  were  off  the  trees,  so  a  more 
extensive  view  might  be  had,  but  the  results  were 
baffling,  and  despite  every  precaution  it  seemed  impos- 
sible to  get  on  the  proper  branch  of  Lick  Run. 

Reader,  have  you  ever  noted  the  Lick  Run  Gap  as  it 
appears  from  the  entire  breadth  and  length  of  the 
Buffalo  Valley,  five  miles  away?  It  is  t'ne  gap  of  gaps, 
the  noblest  of  notches ;  its  form  is  so  different,  the 
camel  hump  on  the  mountain  on  the  west  side,  the 
high,  sharp  "grindstone"  ridge  to  the  east,  the  great, 
rolling  outline  of  the  so-called  South  Mountain  be- 
yond. How  majestic  and  individual  it  appears  from 
the  high  hill  beyond  Youngmanstown,  from  the  pike 
just  north  of  Dreisbach  Church,  or  from  the  Chestnut 
Ridge  coming  from  New  Berlin !  Always  the  same, 
lordly,  grand  and  mysterious,  it  shields  the  greatest 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  83 

mystery  in  the  whole  treasure  house  of  Pennsylvania 
folk-lore  and  tradition.  The  writer's  third'  trip  in 
April,  was  most  carefully  planned.  But  the  Genius  of 
the  mountain  had  always  a  trump  card  to  play.  This 
time  it  was  to  cross  the  creek  to  examine  the  carcass 
of  a  splendid  stag  that  had  been  shot  the  fall  before. 
Its  jaw  was  blown  away  and  it  had  evidently  dragged 
itself  down  to  the  stream  to  breathe  its  last  at  its 
favorite  bed.  Never  found  by  the  hunters,  though  said 
to  have  been  shot  by  Governor  Sproul  himself,  the 
carcass  lay  there,  the  sport  of  divers  wild  cats,  all  win- 
ter long,  until  found  by  the  writer  and  guides  in  the 
early  spring  of  1917. 

This  digression  from  the  straight  and  narrow  path 
sealed  the  doom  of  the  search  for  the  beaver  working 
for  that  day,  and  though  often  planned  the  writer  has 
never  had  the  time  to  repeat  the  search.  On  that  occa- 
sion he  was  equipped  with  a  diagram  drawn  by  the 
veteran  editor  and  sportsman  of  blessed  memory,  Lew 
C.  Fosnot,  who,  because  of  indisposition,  remained  at 
the  Zimmerman  hospice,  while  the  writer  and  his 
guides  pursued  their  search  for  the  mysterious  pond.  In 
the  seventies  and  eighties  Mr.  Fosnot  on  divers  grouse 
and  wild  turkey  hunts  had  rambled  pretty  well  all  over 
the  Xittany  and  South  Mountains,  and  on  one  of  these 
trips  had  come  upon  the  little  patch  of  dead  water, 
which  showed  unmistakable  signs  of  having  been  an 
ancient  beaver  colony,  that  many  years  later  was  again 
to  be  the  scene  of  these  busy  little  creatures'  opera- 
tions. 


84  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


It  appeared  that  early  in  1913  some  lumbermen 
connected  with  the  White  Deer  Lumber  Company's 
operations  had  stumbled  across  the  scene  of  the  activ- 
ities of  the  beavers.  There  were  only  a  single  pair  of 
them,  and  on  the  next  Saturday  night  related  their  ex- 
perience in  the  crossroads  store  at  Hightown.  There 
were  some  old  hunters  present  who  were  pleased  to 
hear  of  a  return  of  the  beavers  to  the  White  Deer 
waters,  where  none  had  been  since  about  1885.  Un- 
fortunately some  one  in  the  crowd  said  that  the  castors 
of  the  beavers  were  worth  one  hundred  dollars,  which 
made  several  young  boys,  including  the  half-witted 
lad,  who  were  hanging  about  the  store  room,  literally 
prick  up  their  ears.  The  result  was  the  killing  of  the 
female  beaver,  and  the  boy's  story  that  he  had  looked' 
out  across  a  valley  which  teemed  with  every  animal 
and  bird  known  in  that  section  of  Pennsylvania  in  the 
olden  clays,  the  trees  being  filled  with  passenger 
pigeons  in  such  numbers  that  they  appeared  blue.  The 
killing  of  the  beaver  and  the  seeing  of  the  valley  sent  a 
number  of  would-be  argonauts  into  the  gap  of  Lick 
Run — none  of  them  ever  found  the  beaver  pond  or  the 
surviving  beaver,  or  could  they  get  any  idea  of  the 
location  of  the  Lost  Valley. 

On  the  writer's  third  trip  to  seek  out  the  beaver 
working,  the  track  was  lost  by  the  visit  to  the  carcass 
of  the  stag,  and  after  that  the  party  climbed  about  all 
over  the  slopes  of  the  mountains  until  the  signs  of 
approaching  evening  caused  them  to  turn  valleyward, 
where  Zimmerman's  mule  team  stood  waiting  patiently, 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  85 


tied  to  a  tree  near  the  Sproul  camp,  to  take  them  back 
to  the  genial  Jake's  commodious  home  at  the  heading 
of  Zimmerman's  .Run.  When  it  became  apparent  that 
no  beaver  pond  would  be  found  that  day,  the  party 
sat  down  under  a  grove  of  giant  original  hemlocks, 
looking  out  towards  Elimsport,  and  discussed  the  vari- 
ous aspects  of  the  baffling  situation. 

One  of  the  guides  grew  reminiscent  and  told  a  very 
curious  incident  that  happened  some  forty  years  be- 
fore, when  old  Adam  Hawk  was  lumbering  in  Lick 
Run  Gap.  His  stone  shanty  stood  not  far  from  where 
the  dead  stag  was  found ;  the  ruins,  much  overgrown 
with  briars  and  wild  apple  saplings,  are  still  visible. 
I  lawk  was  cutting  original  white  pine  in  the  gap  for 
Ario  Pardee  and  trailing  the  logs  with  oxen  to  White 
Deer  Creek,  where  they  were  floated  to  the  great 
Pardee  saw  mill  near  Watsontown.  It  was  the  finest 
kind  of  timber.  One  pine  left  by  Hawk  still  stands 
near  his  ruined  cabin.  It  is  truly  a  "monarch  of  the 
glen." 

"It  was  during  his  first  winter  as  a  jobber  on  Lick 
Run,''  said  the  guide,  ''and  the  timber  stood  solidly  all 
through  the  gap,  clear  to  the  summit  of  the  South 
Mountain  beyond.  The  only  place  where  the  sunlight 
could  come  in  was  the  clearing  which  Hawk  had  made 
for  his  stone  shanty,  and  the  alleged  pond  away  back 
among  the  tops  of  the  mountains.  It  looked  to  be  a 
four  or  five-year  job,  so  he  concluded  to  build  his  camp 
of  stone,  his  stables  of  white  oak  logs.  Unlike  most 
lumbermen,  Adam  Hawk  was  orderly  by  nature,  his 


86  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

buildings  were  substantial,  and  everything  neat  and 
clean  about  them.  True  enough,  he  only  took  the 
choice  cuts  out  of  every  log,  and  often  left  entire  trees 
lying  in  the  woods  for  slight  defects,  but  the  orders  of 
Mike  Courtney,  Pardee's  woods  boss,  were  that  de- 
fective timber  did  not  pay  for  the  handling — what 
they  wrasted  in  those  days  would  have  made  a  dozen 
millionaires.  Hawk's  housekeeper  was  the  widow  of 
his  brother  Hiram,  who  was  killed  breaking  the  great 
log  jam  at  Lock  Haven  dam  in  the  spring  of  '73.  He 
left,  besides  his  widow,  several  children,  but  one,  a 
daughter.  Hazel,  was  with  her  mother  at  the  camp  on 
Lick  Run.  Hazel  was  easily  the  prettiest  girl  I  have 
ever  seen.  She  had  glorious  brown  eyes  with  a  glint 
of  gold,  a  great  amount  of  russet  hair,  a  freckled  face, 
with  a  nose  slightly  turned  up — at  least,  it  \vas  not  like 
a  hatch's  bill.  She  was  not  very  tall,  and  plump  rather 
than  lean.  She  had  winning  manners  and  a  smile  that 
was  most  captivating.  As  a  young  boy  working  on  the 
job,  I  always  admired  her,  and  would  have  declared 
myself  the  first  time  I  saw  her,  only  I  knew  that  her 
heart  was  elsewhere.  She  was  between  fifteen  and 
sixteen  yer-rs  of  age,  I  should  imagine,  but  in  the 
mountains  that  is  the  age  when  most  girls  are  thinking 
of  getting  married.  She  \vas  much  in  love  with  a  boy 
a  few  years  older  than  herself,  who  lived  across  the 
mountains  in  White  Deer  Hole  Valley,  just  below 
where  old  Cassie  George,  the  woman  hermit,  had  her 
log  cabin.  Hazel  had  met  him  the  winter  before  while 
at  her  uncle's  camp  near  the  Fourth  Gap,  where  for 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  87 

several  years  he  had  a  lumber  job  for  the  elder  John 
DuBois. 

"'For  some  reason  Hazel's  mother  professed  to  dislike 
the  youth,  or  perhaps  did  not  want  her  to  marry  so 
soon  and  leave  her.  She  was  very  bitter  against  him, 
and  forbid  him  to  visit  the  camp,  but  sometimes  when 
Hazel  would  stroll  up  to  the  home  of  her  friend  Black 
Agnes  Dunbar,  near  the  mouth  of  Fourth  Gap,  on 
Sunday  afternoons,  after  work  was  done,  he  would 
appear  there,  and  they  would  pass  a  couple  of  pleasant 
hours  together.  We  called  Agnes  'Black  Agnes'  be- 
cause of  the  intense  blackness  of  her  hair,  though  the 
local  school  teacher  said  that  there  was  a  character  of 
that  name  in  history.  I  have  never  seen  its  equal  for 
balckness  before  or  since.  If  Hazel's  mother  had 
known  of  these  meetings,  there  would  have  been  great 
ructions,  but  she  never  found  them  out  as  far  as  I 
know,  and  she  kept  on  forbidding  her  daughter  to  see 
the  boy.  and  ridiculing  him,  until  the  job  was  finished, 
and  they  moved  to  Lock  Haven  and  then  to  Lick  Run. 
Whether  the  mother  was  a  good  judge  of  character  is 
best  answered  by  the  fact  that  the  despised  boy  went 
to  Pittsburg  and  became  a  leading  lawyer,  and  for 
many  terms  a  member  of  Congress.  He  is  now  very 
wealthy.  Jind  moves  in  good  society.  It  seems  a  pity  to 
break  up  a  case  of  first  love,  for  we  only  live  once,  and 
cannot  for  the  life  of  us  blot  out  these  early  memories 
and  aspirations.  We  are  probably  rewarded  for  our 
abnegation  in  the  next  world'! 

"The  Widow  Hiawk  seemed  pleased  when  the  news 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


came  that  her  brother-in-law  had  secured  the  contract 
on  Lick  Run,  for  she  loved  the  life  in  the  forests,  and 
the  ranges  of  mountains  which  lay  between  the  camp 
and  the  Valley  of  South  Creek  would  be  effectual 
barriers  to  any  continuance  of  her  daughter's  romance 
with  the  undesirable  lover.  The  autumn  tints  were 
bright  among  the  gray  birches,  beeches  and  tulip  trees 
along  White  Deer  Creek,  in  contrast  to  the  darkness 
of  the  hemlocks,  as  they  drove  from  Logansville 
(now  Loganton)  to  the  new  camp.  It  was  a  beau- 
tiful drive,  the  zest  of  which  was  added  to  by  old 
Adam  Hawk  handing  the  lines  over  to  his  niece  in 
order  to  pick  up  his  rifle  and  shoot  the  head  off  a  fine 
wild  turkey  gobbler,  or  'Bubbly  Jock/  which  was 
crossing  the  road  near  the  Sand  Spring.  All  were 
pleased  with  the  substantial-looking  stone  house,  with 
its  red  tiled  roof,  and  the  solid-looking  log  stable,  so 
much  in  contrast  to  the  usual  flimsy  construction  of 
lumbermen's  buildings.  It  would  be  an  'all-year- 
round'  camp,  as  in  the  summer  months  hemlock  bark 
could  be  peeled  if  the  price  kept  up. 

"Hazel  looked  south  from  the  house  to  where  the 
mountains  gradually  rose,  ridge  upon  ridge,  to  the 
final  culmination  close  to  the  clouds,  known  as  'South 
Mountain,'  and  thought  of  her  lover,  and  that  such  a 
barrier  could  be  dissolved  by  the  will  of  love.  She 
probably  wasn't  at  all  sentimental,  was  of  a  jolly  and 
matter-of-fact  disposition,  yet  the  greatest  aspirations 
of  her  nature  welled  up  in  her  just  at  that  moment. 
When  with  her  mother  she  had  driven  past  her  lover's 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  89 

home,  after  the  Fourth  Gap  job  was  closed,  she  had 
felt  that  she  would  never  see  him  again.  As  they  left 
the  valley  her  mother  had  said,  rather  harshly,  'Take  a 
good  look,  Hazel,  for  you  will  never  visit  that  valley 
again,  not  if  I  have  anything  to  say  about  it.'  Now, 
after  an  interval  of  a  year,  they  were  located  directly 
south  of  the  forbidden  valley,  with  only  mountains 
intervening.  The  first  Sunday  afternoon  at  the  Lick 
Run  camp  most  of  the  crew  took  naps,  soothed  by  the 
genial  warmth  of  spirit  of  Indian  summer.  Hazel's 
mother  was  among  the  sleepers.  Others  went  for 
walks.  Hazel  said  that  she  wanted  to  climb  to  the 
top  of  the  mountain,  but  I  did  not  take  the  hint  and 
go  with  her,  as  I  was  not  in  sympathy  with  her  mis- 
sion. 

"Taking  a  small  Indian  basket,  and  walking  ahead 
of  some  of  the  young  men  who  were  going  to  gather 
chestnuts,  she  started  up  the  steep  path  leading  to- 
wards the  giant  backbone  of  South  Mountain,  every 
step  revealing  her  trim  ankles  and  the  rounded  out- 
lines of  her  figure.  The  air  had  just  enough  crispness 
to  it  to  prevent  fatigue,  and  there  were  copious  springs 
along  the  way  to  alleviate  thirst,  consequently  it  did.  not 
overtax  her  to  reach  the  mighty  eminence  and  look 
down  on  White  Deer  Hole  Valley,  and  through  the 
openings  of  the  trees  see  the  tiny  speck  which  was  her 
lover's  home  nestling  at  the  foot  of  the  Muncy  Moun- 
tain on  the  far  side  of  the  valley.  Seated  on  a  icg, 
under  the  biggest  hemlock  tree  on  the  mountain  top, 
listening  to  the  'twee,  twee,  twee'  of  the  wild  pigeons 


90  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

in  the  dark,  shaggy  branches,  she  feasted  her  glorious 
brown  eyes  on  the  scenes  she  loved  so  well.  Suddenly 
she  heard  a  cracking  of  twigs,  and  her  heart  gave  a 
jump.  Could  a  bear  be  coming  after  her?  It  was  a 
reckless  act  to  be  all  alone  in  such  a  wilderness.  Be- 
fore she  could  get  up,  a  pair  of  hands  were  clapped 
over  her  eyes  from  behind,  and  a  familiar  voice  said : 
'Guess  who  is  here !'  'I  thought  you  were  a  bear.  I 
almost  died  of  fright ;  now  I  am  dying  of  joy,'  replied 
H'azel.  It  was  a  gladsome  meeting,  and  the  moment- 
sped  by  rapidly,  until  soon  the  lengthening  shadows 
betokened  the  coming  sunset.  'Oh,  I  must  be  hurrying 
back/  said  Hazel,  'and  I  haven't  a  single  chestnut  in 
my  basket;  if  I  return  empty-handed  mother  will  sus- 
pect me.'  'Don't  worry,'  replied  the  young  man.  'My 
pockets  are  full,'  and  he  emptied  them  into  the  basket 
until  it  was  filled  to  the  point  of  overflowing.  They 
then  started  across  the  flat  summit  of  the  mountain, 
towards  the  gorge  of  Lick  Run.  'You  must  not  come 
too  far  with  me,'  said  the  girl,  'lest  we  meet  some  of 
the  chestnut-pickers  from  the  camp,  and  they  might 
accidentally  let  it  out  at  the  supper  table.'  The  shad- 
ows were  falling  fast,  and  Hazel  kept  urging  her  lover 
to  turn  back.  'I  know  the  way  down  the  hollow  :  the 
path  is  clearly  marked,  and  I'm  so  afraid  if  mother 
finds  this  out  she  will  never  let  me  take  any  more 
walks.  This  way  I  can  meet  you  again  next  Sunday 
afternoon.'  The  lover,  realizing  the  wisdom  of  her 
words,  kissed  her  many  times  and  reluctantly  turned 
on  his  heel. 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  91 


"Hazel,  left  alone,  redoubled  her  pace,  but  she  had 
walked  so  slowly  with  her  lover  that  she  could  not 
reach  the  brink  of  the  gorge  before  darkness  fell. 
I  Jut  she  kept  on  and  on.  Was  ever  a  plateau  so  wide 
and  dreary  ?  Were  there  such  big  or  black  trees 
elsewhere?  Soon  it  became  pitchy  dark,  and  yet  the 
trail  did  not  dip  downwards  toward  Lick  Run.  Hazel, 
at  first  worried,  began  to  feel  hysterical.  She  thought 
of  her  mother's  wrath,  and  the  ending  of  all  hopes  for 
future  meetings  with  her  lover.  Why  had  she  stayed 
so  long?  It  had  only  taken  her  an  hour  and  a  half  to 
climb  to  the  top  of  the  mountain  ;  how  did  it  take  so 
much  longer  to  return  ?  She  kept  on  walking  and 
walking.  A  fe\v  stars  came  out,  disclosing  the  path. 
It  looked  natural  and  she  seemed  to  be  going  in  the 
right  direction.  At  length  she  came  to  a  pool,  sur- 
rounded by  giant  gum  trees,  whojse  bare,  twisted 
trunks  and  branches  stood  out  like  ghosts  against  the 
cold  starlight.  A  natural  crossing  or  breast  was  near 
the  outlet  of  the  pond;  surely  that  rivulet  was  one  of 
the  headings  of  Lick  Run  ;  if  she  followed  its  course 
she  would  come  out  at  the  main  stream,  and  thence 
to  the  camp.  She  decided'  to  follow  the  path,  on  across 
the  table  land.  She  kept  on  and  on.  Where  could 
this  path  lead  her  out?  It  seemed  as  if  she  was  walk- 
ing all  night,  for  the  stars  began  to  fade  into  the  sky, 
and  she  felt  desperately  tired.  Streaks  of  rose  pink 
appeared  in  the  east,  yet  she  kept  on  and  on.  At 
length  the  path  began  to  dip  downwards  ;  she  must  be 
on  the  way  home  at  last.  She  came  to  the  verge  of  a 


92  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


tremendous  precipice,  but  it  was  all  obscured'  with  fog. 
Only  the  rough  tops  of  a  few  old  yellow  pines  ap- 
peared above,  and  Hazel  hesitated  about  descending 
into  this  crater.  She  sat  down  on  a  bed  of  moss,  too 
bewildered  to  go  further.  Gradually  the  fog  lifted, 
and  the  lost  girl,  despite  her  utmost  efforts,  fell  asleep. 
When  she  awoke  it  was  broad  daylight,  and  the  haze 
of  Indian  summer  touched  the  whole  landscape  with  a 
lilac  veil.  Down  below  her  opened  a  vast  crater-like 
'kettle,'  or  valley,  part  in  open  meadows,  part  in  for- 
est. From  the  sides  ran  several  milky  waterfalls, 
which  spread  out  into  pools  and  disappeared  into 
crevices  at  the  bottom  of  the  valley,  like  Engler's 
Falls  in  Nippenose  Valley.  As  her  eyes  became  accus- 
tomed to  the  vastness  and  grandeur  of  the  view,  she 
noticed  great  numbers  of  animals  and  birds,  of  kinds 
she  had  never  seen  or  heard  of.  But  she  did  notice 
herds  of  shaggy  buffaloes,  groups  of  moose,  elks  and  a 
larger  variety  of  deer  than  inhabited  these  mountains. 
Along  the  slopes  of  the  great  cavity  moved  huge, 
tawny  panthers,  wolves,  red  bears,  white  bears,  lynxes, 
wild  cats  and  other  animals.  Beavers  had  a  long 
series  of  dams  on  the  streams  before  they  disappeared 
into  the  depths  of  the  valley.  Above  soared  the  lordly 
bald  eagles  and  golden  eagles,  and  innumerable  varie- 
ties of  hawks  and  other  bird's  flew"  hither  and  thither. 
It  was  a  hunter's  paradise.  Hazel  gazed  at  this  un- 
usual scene  fascinated.  She  forgot  her  earlier  hunger, 
and  was  no  longer  tired.  She  had  heard  that  a  stray 
red  bear  had  been  killed  in  the  White  Deer  Creek  re- 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  93 

gion,  and  beavers  and  wolves  and  panthers  were  occa- 
sionally seen.  All  these  rare  forms  must  come  from 
this  Lost  Valley.  Why  had  no  gunners  ever  found  this 
happy  hunting  ground,  where  was  it  located,  that  it 
was  so  difficult  not  only  to  find,  but  to  get  away  from  ? 
She  sat  there  all  day  long,  charmed  by  this  glimpse  of 
the  pristine  wilderness.  She  was  neither  hungry, 
thirsty,  cold  or  tired,  and  she  went  gently  to  sleep 
when  night  fell.  The  next  day  she  continued  her  ob- 
servations, endeavoring  to  count  the  numbers  of  the 
various  larger  animals  and  birds.  The  trees  were 
most  remarkable,  used  as  she  was  to  forests  or  enor- 
mous original  white  pines  and  hemlocks.  These  trees 
were  veritable  titans,  and  floating  among  them  were 
innumerable  flocks  of  wild  pigeons.  Here  and  there 
the  bright  green  and1  orange  tints  betokened  the  pres- 
ence of  great  numbers  of  Carolina  parrots. 

As  the  afternoon  progressed  Hazel  gathered  herself 
together,  resolved  to  resume  the  long  journey  to  Lick 
Run.  There  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  retrace  her  steps 
to  the  pond,  and  follow  the  stream  until  it  joined  Lick 
Run ;  she  would  soon  be  home  then.  When  she 
reached  the  pond  she  noticed  that  about  a  dozen 
beavers  were  at  work  along  its  banks,  felling  aspen 
trees  and  building  dams.  At  the  breast  of  the  lower 
dam  she  walked  into  the  bed  of  the  runnel,  and  fol- 
lowed it  down  its  jungled  bed.  The  spell  of  the  moun- 
tain soon  began  to  leave  her ;  she  began  to  feel  terribly 
tired  and  hungry  again  ;  her  feet  ached  so  that  she  had 
to  repeatedly  lean  against  trees  to  rest  herself.  It  was 


94  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


all  she  could  do  to  continue,  but  she  kept  on  until  it 
grew  dark.  She  was  so  tired  and  nervous  that  she 
wept  copiously.  At  length,  through  the  gloom,  she 
heard  shouts  and  several  rifle  shots ;  evidently  a 
searching  party  was  out  after  her.  Gathering  together 
all  her  strength,  Hazel  answered  at  the  top  of  her 
voice,  and  to  her  infinite  relief  was  replied  to — she  was 
saved.  Sitting  on  a  log  which  lay  across  the  streamlet", 
she  waited  for  her  deliverers.  At  last  she  could  hear 
their  voices  as  they  drew  ,nearer.  Armed  with  lanterns 
and'  torches,  the  party  clambered  through  the  brush, 
under  the  overhanging  boughs  of  the  hemlocks,  up  to 
where  she  sat.  In  the  party  she  recognized  about 
every  member  of  the  lumber  crew,  headed  by  her  uncle. 
They  were  overjoyed  to  see  her,  and  eagerly  asked 
her  story.  She  held  up  her  basket  full  of  chestnuts  as 
evidence  of  her  truthfulness  to  prove  why  she  had  lost 
her  way.  She  was  so  exhausted  when  they  found 
her  that  the  young  woodsmen,  including  myself,  took 
turns  carrying  her — a  delicious  burden,  to  be  sure — 
down  the  glen  until  they  came  out  on  the  main  stream 
of  Lick  Run.  As  they  bore  her  along  she  told  of  her 
adventures,  the  beaver  dam,  and  the  Lost  Valley  teem- 
ing with  game.  It  seemed  incredible ;  perhaps  she  was 
overwrought  by  her  night  in  the  wilderness,  so  they 
humored  her,  yet  each  secretly  hoping  that  what  she 
said  was  true,  for  they  were  all  hunters.  When  she 
saw  the  light  in  the  window  at  the  stone  cabin,  gleam- 
ing through  the  gloom,  a  veritable  'star  of  the  glen.' 
Hazel's  joy  knew  no  bounds.  The  men  shouted,  and 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  95 


the  dogs  began  to  bark.  Hazel's  mother  ran  out  and 
was  so  overjoyed  to  have  her  girl  back  again  that  she 
never  uttered  a  word  of  reproof.  It  was  all  like  a 
great  big  love  feast  around  the  lamplit  supper  table 
on  which  the  best  red  tablecloth  was  spread.  During 
the  meal  Hazel  repeated  her  marvelous  story,  and  as 
no  one  present  had  ever  been  in  that  locality  before 
there  was  no  one  to  deny  her  assertions. 

"The  next  day  Hazel  awoke  none  the  worse  for  her 
outing,  but  found  that  all  the  men  in  the  camp  had 
'knocked  off'  work  for  the  day  and  gone  in  search  of 
the  Lost  Valley.  They  came  back  long  after  dark, 
unsuccessful,  but  they  could  not  shake  the  girl's  story, 
and  those  glorious  brown  eyes  shot  with  gold  beamed 
only  candor  and  truthfulness.  Old  residents,  including 
the  venerable  tavern  keeper,  Jake  Zimmerman,  at  Tea 
Springs,  grandfather  of  the  present  'Jake/  were  ap- 
pealed to,  but  none  could  approximate  the  location  of 
the  Lost  Valley,  though  they  remembered  the  little 
pond  on  the  high  table  land.  Hazel  never  receded  an 
inch  in  her  story,  yet  she  never  returned  to  the  moun- 
tain. The  strangeness  and  terror  of  her  experience 
appalled  her,  and  she  began  to  even  doubt  in  her  heart 
if  the  meeting  with  her  lover  had  been  a  reality. 

"The  following  autumn  she  married  a  reputable 
young  man  in  Lock  Haven,  and  now  lives  in  Sones- 
town,  above  \Yilliamsport. 

"A  third  of  a  century  later.  Smith,  the  half-witted 
boy,  found  the  beaver  pond,  saw  the  Lost  Valley, 
which  he  described  exactly  as  Hazel  Hawk  had  done, 
and  went  her  one  better  by  returning  and  killing  one 


96  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


of  the  beavers  and  taking  a  second  look  at  the  valley 
on  the  way  back.  He  could  not  induce  any  of  the  crew 
at  his  father's  camp  to  return  with  him  to  the  moun- 
tain, but  as  his  story  was  gossiped  about,  a  fresh  im- 
petus was  given  to  seekers  for  the  Lost  Valley." 

The  guide  paused,  took  a  puff  at  his  \Y.  H.  Mayer 
cigar,  then  added:  "We  must  not  give  up  the  quest. 
After  you  are  back  from  the  war,  and  peace  is  de- 
clared, and  we  all  have  more  time,  we  will  make  a 
systematic  search  for  that  pond  until  we  find  it,  even 
if  we  have  to  stretch  a  cordon  of  men  across  that 
whole  upland  territory.  I  fully  believe  that  the  red 
bear  which  Edgar  Schwenk  killed  on  the  Buffalo  Path 
in"  the  fall  of  1912  wandered  from  the  Lost  Valley,  as 
did  the  beaver  which  the  Smith  boy  shot  in  1013." 

It  was  growing  late,  and  the  third  attempt  on  the 
part  of  the  writer  to  locate  the  beaver  pond  above  Lick 
Run  had  ended  in  failure,  yet  to  live  on  as  a  hope  de- 
ferred until  more  favorable  conditions  would  render 
another  search  party  possible. 


VII.    Whippoorwill's  Shoes 

OLD  "BLACK  LAURA,"  a  deformed  squaw  of 
the  Lenni  Lenape  persuasion,  whom  the  gifted 
historian,  Walker  L.  Stephen,  in  his  interesting 
paper  on  ''Walnut  Tree  Tradition"  describes  as  "sit- 
ting in  front  of  Reading's  first  Lutheran  Church — a 
log  structure  where  now  Trinity  parsonage  graces  the 
corner  of  Church  and  Washington  Streets — and  sold 
walnut  leaves  wherewith  to  cure  fever  and  small-pox 
by  concocting  a  tea  for  internal  and  external  use,"  was 
also  a  flower  seller  of  no  mean  ability.  Her  specialty 
were  the  rare,  exotic  orchids  and  similar  flowers, 
which  were  then,  as  now,  found  principally  along  the 
Blue  Mountains.  At  the  proper  season  the  twisted  oTd 
woman  would  appear  with  a  basket  of  cypripedium 
pubescens,  called  today  "Yellow  Lady  Slippers,"  but 
ir  the  old  days  Moccasin  flowers,  or  Whippoorwill's 
Shoes,  the  roots  carefully  wrapped  in  moss.  They 
were  called  moccasin  flowers  because  of  an  old  tradi- 
tion which  Black  Laura  said  her  mother  told  her  when 
residing  along  the  upper  reaches  of  the  Conococheague, 
and  whippoorwill  shoes  because  they  bloomed  when 
those  weird  night  birds  were  at  their  most  controver- 
sial period.  Needless  to  say,  the  old  Indian  herbalist 
knew  many  legends,  but  few  persons  took  the  trouble 
to  converse  with  her.  She  had  her  regular  customers 
for  walnut  leaves  and  Blue  Mountain  tea  and  for  her 
rare  flowers,  which  members  of  the  first  families  of 
Reading — Hiesters,  Muhlenbergs,  Clymers,  Biddies, 

97 


98  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


Hillegases  and  Nagles — liked  to  plant  in  shady  places 
in  their  front  yards ;  but  the  whippoorwilFs  shoe  was 
a  true  child  of  the  forest  and  a  rebel,  and  refused  to 
reproduce  itself  in  captivity,  no  matter  how  charming 
were  the  hands  that  planted  it. 

There  was  one  young  lady,  a  scion  of  an  ancient 
house  of  Burston,  for  whom  the  old'  squaw  had  a  par- 
ticular liking.  On  her  way  to  and  from  the  Quaker 
Meeting  House  on  Sixth  Street  she  would  stop  and 
say  a  pleasant  word  to  the  palsied  old  woman,  and 
was  a  good  customer  as  well.  One  day  when  she  sold 
her  entire  basket  of  whippoorwill  shoes  to  this  fair 
lady  bountiful,  she  said  :  "I  have  a  mind  not  to  charge 
you  a  penny  for  those  flowers ;  they  are  yours  by  right, 
for  you  remind  me  so  much  of  what  I  have  heard  my 
old  mother  say  of  the  beautiful  young  girl  who  was  the 
origin  of  those  flowers— only  she  was  more  wild  and 
wayward  than  you."  "Thee  does  not  know  me,"  said 
the  pale  Quaker  lady,  blushing.  "We  Friends  are 
really  human  underneath  our  bonnets.  We  have  red 
blood  in  our  grays  and  drabs.  But  come  home  with 
me,"  she  added,  "and  set  out  the  flowers  as  they  should 
be  planted,  under  the  old  white  pine  in  our  front  yard, 
and  then  while  thce  are  placing  them  perhaps  will 
tell  me  the  story  of  the  girl  who  resembled  me,  for  I 
confess  that  what  you  say  interests  me  mightily,  for 
of  all  flowers  I  love  most  the  whippoorwill  shoes." 

Picking  up  the  old  squaw's  basket  and  bundle,  she 
led  her  across  town,  the  old  crooked  woman  hobbling 
and  bobbing  along  with  her  iromvood  cane,  towards 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  99 


the  spacious  mansion  overlooking  the  Schuylkill, 
where  the  ancient  Quaker  family  resided.  The  flow- 
ers were  planted  in  rich  soil  in  the  lea  of  the  old 
original  white  pine.  Then  the  young  girl  said  :  "Come, 
Black  Laura ;  the  sun  is  very  hot ;  let  us  sit  on  the 
porch  and  while  resting  tell  me  thy  story." 

Comfortably  seated  in  the  shade  the  old,  weazened 
creature  began  her  narrative.  It  was  hard  to  talk  so 
much,  and  at  times  she  was  lacking  in  English  words, 
but  she  always  found  a  Dutch  equivalent,  so  the  nar- 
rative did  not  lag. 

"When  my  mother  was  a  very  young  girl,"  she  be- 
gan, "she  lived  with  her  parents  at  the  lower  end  of 
the  Kittochtinny  range  of  mountains,  not  far  from  the 
upper  waters  of  the  Conococheague.  Nearby,  on  a 
flat,  by  the  stream,  lived  the  great  Chief  Octararo, 
whose  name  still  survives  in  a  beautiful  creek  yonder 
across  the  South  Mountains  (of  Berks  and  Lancaster 
Counties).  He  was  not  a  warrior,  but  his  influence 
over  his  people  was  mainly  due  to  his  knowledge  of 
magic.  He  could  cast  spells  and  change  people — by 
that  I  mean  he  could  make  people  do  his  bidding, 
whether  they  wanted  to  or  not,  or  turn  them  into  ani- 
mals or  birds  or  even  trees.  He  was  proud  of  his 
power,  and  very  overbearing  and  disagreeable.  He 
was  so  generally  feared  that  he  achieved  more  of  a 
sway  over  his  people  than  many  another  chief  who 
might  be  more  human  in  his  conduct.  He  had  five 
daughters,  who,  despite  his  powers  at  changing,  wrere 
ugly  to  look  at,  and  cruel  and  selfish  by  nature.  They 


100  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


were  spoiled,  had  everything  their  own  way,  and  were 
constantly  quarreling  among  themselves — much  as  idle 
rich  white  girls  do,  who  have  not  the  calm  spirit  of  the 
Original  People.  Before  I  was  born,  a  white  family 
moved  about  a  mile  down  the  stream  from  the  lodge- 
house  of  Octararo.  The  Indian-  and  his  family  re- 
sented this  intrusion,  but  as  the  Quakers  and  Indians 
were  living  in  perfect  amity — the  first  William  Penn 
was  still  in  the  flesh — there  could  be  no  measures 
taken  to  drive  the  pale  faces  away. 

The  white  couple  had  a  daughter  who  even  the 
Indians  thought  very  beautiful.  My  mother  used  to 
creep  through  the  tall  brush  to  gaze  at  her  before  I 
was  born,  hoping  that  I  would  look  like  her,  but,  alas ! 
the  spell,  which  Octararo  cast  on  the  fair  girl's  young 
life  blighted  me  also,  so  that  every  joint  in  my  poor 
body  is  a  misfit.  But  I  think  I  have  something  of  her 
disposition,  for  she  was  kindly.  She  was  wonderful  to 
look  at,  so  I  have  heard  my  mother  say  a  hundred 
times,  and  she  had  seen  many  white  women  of  degree 
when  she  lived  near  the  T'ri-Mountain  Road,  where 
most  all  the  travel  to  the  west  went  by.  -  I  don't  know 
the  girl's  name,  but  from  the  first  time  I  saw  you  I 
have  called  her  'Elgie' — your  name — because  you  are 
so  much  like  her.  Her  hair  was  very  soft  and  very 
black,  as  were  her  eyebrows  and  long  lashes,  but  her 
face  was  as  white  as  that  white-washed  fence  along 
the  garden,  and  her  deepset  gray  eyes  always  had  that 
thoughtful  look  of  flowers  in  afternoon.  Her  nose 
was  turned  up  just  a  little  at  the  end,  and  her  mouth 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  101 


was  very  red.  She  was  not  so  very  tall,  but  so  smooth 
and  white  and  shapely !  My  mother  longed  for  such  a 
daughter,  but  Octararo's  deviltry  made  me  what  I  am ! 
But  I  am  not  dissatisfied.  In  seeing  you  I  have  found 
a  mirror  of  my  dreams,  and  I  would  rather  see  you 
young,  with  life  before  you,  than  be  that  lovely  Elgie 
myself.  There  was  a  large  pool  of  dead  water  across 
the  meadow  from  Octararo's  abode,  shaded  with  the 
biggest  buttonwood  trees  I  have  ever  seen,  with  sloping 
grassy  banks,  which  were  covered  with  all  kinds  of 
flowers  in  the  springtime.  This  was  the  favorite  bath- 
ing place  of  Octararo's  five  ill-favored  daughters. 
They  let  it  be  known  that  no  person  dare  bathe  in  that 
pool  under  penalty  of  being  changed  into  some  hideous 
shape,  and,  needless  to  say,  their  privacy  was  not  in- 
vaded'. When  the  white  family  moved  into  the  valley 
my  mother  told  the  story,  which  amused  them  greatly. 
'How  very  foolish,'  said  the  pioneer,  stroking  his  long, 
dark  beard.  'However,  if  it  is  the  wish  of  Octararo 
that  no  one  but  his  family  use  that  pool,  neither  my 
family  or  I  would  think  of  disturbing  them.' 

"Elgie,  who  was  about  seventeen,  was  a  girl  of  active 
temperament,  and  secretly  resented  this  Indian  over- 
lordship.  She  liked  to  feel  that  the  scope  of  the  valley 
was  hers.  She  hated  a  forbidden  district,  when  all  the 
woods  should  be  free.  One  afternoon  in  May,  it  was  a 
warm  day.  much  as  today,  and  Elgie  was  walking 
along  the  stream,  proud  in  the  display  of  a  pair  of 
elegantly  beaded  moccasins  which  my  admiring  mother 
had  made  and  given  her,  and  wearing  only  a  blue 


102  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

denham  smock  which  came  half-way  to  her  knees, 
she  noted  the  calm,  cooling  waters  of  the  forbidden 
pool.  She  looked  about.  No  one  was  to  be  seen.  Not 
a  sound  came  from  the  chief's  long  lodge-house  across 
the  meadow.  Might  she  not  risk  it  and  jump  in  just 
for  five  minutes?  Looking  about  again  to  make  sure 
of  her  privacy,  she  pulled  her  smock  over  her  head 
and  stood  poised  on  the  bank.  Then  she  thought  of 
her  wonderful  moccasins,  and,  stooping  down,  she 
untied  them  and  took  them  off,  carefully  placing  each 
on  little  twigs  which  overhung  the  water.  She  splashed 
in.  and  was  soon  up  to  her  neck  in  the  cool,  refreshing 
waters  of  Conococheague.  In  the  midst  of  her  en- 
joyment she  heard  voices.  Looking  up,  she  beheld  the 
five  ugly  daughters  of  Octararo  approaching.  How 
hideous  they  were — short  and  squat,  with  huge  fea- 
tures and  enormous  heads !  They  were  already  men 
acing  her  with  coarse  epithets,  half  in  English,  half  in 
German.  There  was  no  time  to  be  lost.  Elgie  forced 
her  way  through  the  water  to  the  bank,  sprang  up  it, 
and,  picking  up  her  smock,  slid  it  over  her  head.  There 
was  no  time  to  rescue  the  pretty  moccasins.  Flight 
was  the  only  course  left  open.  How  she  ran  across 
that  meadow,  under  the  big  trees !  A  Halcyon  raced 
her,  rattling  loudly.  'Can  it  be,'  she  thought,  as  she 
locked  up  at  the  uncouth  bird,  'that  it  is  some  poor 
soul  whom  Octararo  found  in  his  pool  and  changed  ?' 
She  was  out  of  breath  and  sank  down  on  a  bench  out- 
side her  home,  her  pretty  white  feet  cut  and  bleeding, 
for  she  had  had  no  choice  of  steps.  She  had  never 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  103 


looked  back  once,  but  when  she  sat  down  she  was 
facing  the  direction  from  whence  she  come  on  her  mad 
race  and  was  relieved  when  no  pursuers  hove  in  sight. 

"She  was  resting  there,  trying  to  appear  uncon- 
cerned, smoothing  the  masses  of  hair  at  the  sides  of 
her  head,  when  her  father  emerged  from  the  cabin. 
As  if  to  amuse  him  she  related  her  adventure  with  the 
ugly  daughters  of  Octararo.  While  she  was  talking 
her  mother  appeared  in  the  doorway  to  listen  to  the 
recital.  Instead  of  laughter,  the  Quaker's  face  dark- 
ened, and  he  looked  grievously  provoked.  'Thee  has 
disobeyed  my  orders,  girl,'  he  said,  'and  little  know 
what  the  consequences  may  be.  We  were  only  allowed 
to  settle  here  on  condition  that  we  observed  all  the 
rules  laid  down  by  our  Indian  neighbors.' 

'  '1  detest  such  a  life  of  bondage.  Those  Indians 
are  only  savages.  Why  can  they  dictate  to  us?'  broke 
in  Elgie,  with  considerable  spirit. 

"The  father  looked  at  the  girl  sternly,  then  turning 
to  the  mother,  said,  '\Yhip-her-well.'  Picking  up  his 
king  rifle  he  started  off  towards  the  forest  as  if  not 
caring  to  witness  the  cruel  punishment  which  he 
had  decreed.  The  mother  made  no  move  to  start 
proceedings.  Either  she  disapproved  of  the  chas- 
tisement or  concluded  to  wait  until  bed-time,  when 
she  could  have  more  time  and  lay  her  over  a  chest  and 
whip  her  well  until  her  arms  became  tired,  as  was  the 
custom  of  the  mountain  people.  The  mother  soon 
returned  to  her  tasks  indoors.  Elgie,  left  to  her  own 
devices,  bethought  herself,  as  she  kicked  her  heels 


104  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

together,  of  the  life  circumscribed  to  conform  to  the 
whims  of  Indians,  of  the  indignity  of  a  possible  whip- 
ping, and  concluded  to  run  away.  She  thought  of  her 
wonderful  moccasins — what  would  the  friendly  squaw 
say  who  made  them  and  presented  them  to  her,  if  she 
disappeared  without  them  ?  Enough  time  had  elapsed 
for  the  chief's  ugly  daughters  to  have  finished  their 
ablutions  and  returned  for  supper  to  the  lodge-house. 
The  days  were  still  short,  and  she  could  reach  the  pool 
before  dusk,  recover  her  moccasins  and  slip  off  un- 
noticed. She  would  go  somewhere,  perhaps  to  her 
grandmother's  home  on  Piney  Mountain  for  a  few 
weeks.  It  was  a  foolish  plan  to  run  away  in  a  wil- 
derness, but  Elgie  was  all  upset ;  the  chase  by  the 
girls,  and  the  hard  race  to  escape,  the  unsympathetic 
behavior  of  her  father  and  mother,  the  thought  that 
she  was  too  old  to  be  whipped,  all  excited  her,  and  she 
became  reckless  enough  even  to  penetrate  into  the 
home  of  Octararo  himself  if  occasion  demanded. 

"Cautiously  she  walked  along  the  bank,  the  last  rays 
of  the  setting  sun  shining  through  the  budding 
branches  of  the  old  trees.  There  was  a  sweetness  to 
the  atmosphere,  the  breath  of  Nature  yawning  after 
her  long  sleep.  As  she  neared  the  pool  and  gazed 
across  the  meadow  she  saw  a  tail  of  smoke  arising 
from  the  lodge-house.  Evidently  the  horrid  girls  were 
getting  supper.  There  was  no  cause  for  alarm. 
Elgie's  life  had  been  very  narrow  in  her  backwoods 
environment,  and  the  moccasins  assumed  greater  im- 
portance than  they  would  have  done  at  another  time 


Caledonia  Park, 

General 

View 


AIN    Sl>  KTi.'U 


wsiV 


to  conform  to  thr 
•f  a  po>*.iblt:  vvhip- 
'••!>••:•  tbof'^ht  of  her 
;tH'  friendly  squaw 
•  ii«;ni  TO  her,  if  she 
"n  time  Had  elapsed 
liave  finished  their 
1--.I  tlit  lodge-b.ou.se. 
•>nl(i  reach  the  poo' 

•;    'j.\'i(\   slip  off   un- 

-», 

-na;i-:   to   her 

.  (      t  ')V      I)       f('\\,r 

'.i\    in  a  "-il- 


ror    alarm. 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  105 

and  place.  She  was  glad  to  risk  her  safety  to  secure 
them,  for  she  had  owned  little  of  what  might  be  called 
finery.  She  began  to  quicken  her  steps,  saying  to  her- 
self:  'The  folks  expect  me  back  for  supper.  If  I  am 
not  there  they  will  start  out  to  hunt  me.  I  must  put 
enough  distance  between  us  so  as  to  give  me  time  to 
escape.  Let  them  stay  and  live  under  the  rule  of  those 
horrible  Indians.'  Soon  she  spied  the  moccasins,  still 
hanging  side  by  side  on  two  tiny  whitewood  bushes. 
She  rushed  forward,  leaning  over  to  grasp  them.  Just 
then  she  heard  the  twigs  crack.  'Could  it  be  father 
after  me  ?'  she  thought.  Her  heart  beat  and  she  looked 
up  nervously.  Beside  her  stood  the  great,  dark  form 
of  Octararo  himself.  The  huge  Indian  was  in  a  tower- 
ing rage. 

"  'What  do  you  mean  by  coming  to  this  private  pool, 
not  once,  but  twice  in  one  clay?  Has  not  your  father 
warned  you  to  keep  away  from  my  possessions?  I 
have  a  mind  to  throw  you  into  the  pool  which  you 
seem  to  love  so  well  and  hold  you  under  until  you  are 
drowned.  I  have  a  mind  to  turn  you  over  to  my 
daughters  to  tear  you  to  pieces.  I  wish  I  knew  of  a 
punishment  severe  enough  to  answer  your  froward 
conduct.' 

"Poor  Elgie  was  crushed  to  the  earth  by  this  un- 
manly tirade,  and  hung  her  pretty  head.  Not  a  word 
could  she  say. 

''  'I  believe  that  I  willlock  you  up  in  my  house,  and 
tell  your  father  to  come  and  get  you,  and  if  he  doesn't 
make  you  suffer,  I  will  report  him  to  William  Penn. 


106  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


"Elgie  thought  that  the  chief  was  beginning  to 
modify  the  extent  of  his  threats  and  raised  her  head 
with  renewed  courage.  As  she  did  he  reached  out  his 
arms,  saying:  'You  are  too  beautiful  to  harm;  take 
your  shoes  and  go  your  way  in  peace.' 

"Just  at  that  moment  they  beheld  the  five  ugly  girls 
coming  across  the  meadow  to  join  their  father.  They 
quickened  their  pace  when  they  saw  with  whom  he  was 
talking,  and  soon  surrounded  him,  jabbering  to  him 
in  the  Lenni-Lenape  tongue,  and  making,  from  the 
rising  tones  of  their  voices,  ugly  threats.  The  chief 
soon  repented  of  his  kind  offer,  and  saw  that  he  must 
punish  the  white  girl  severely  in  order  to  keep  peace 
with  his  daughters.  He  knew  that  they  were  jealous 
of  Elgie's  white  skin  and  matchless  beauty,  and  had 
long  plotted  her  destruction.  Pushing  his  way  through 
the  mob  of  shrieking  ugliness,  he  came  very  near  to 
Elgie  again. 

"  'Girl,'  he  said,  in  stern  tones,  you  have  committed 
an  offense  for  which  there  can  be  no  forgiveness.  I 
will  punish  you  in  a  way  so  that  you  will  always  re- 
member your  crime.'  Looking  at  her  steadfastly,  she 
became  as  if  rooted  to  the  spot,  experiencing  queer 
pains,  like  'growing  pains,'  all  through  her  body.  As 
he  looked  at  her.  her  skin  began  to  coarsen,  feathers 
appeared,  her  arms  became  wings,  and  her  pretty  feet 
ugly  black  claws.  Even  her  mentality  changed.  She 
did  not  appear  to  realize  the  enormity  of  the  change 
that  had  come  to  her.  It  was  not  long  before  she  be- 
came a  large,  dark-brown  bird,  and  with  wobbly,  un- 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  107 


steady  flight  arose  into  the  dusk,  and,  reversing  her 
earlier  intention,  started  to  fly  homeward.  Her  pa- 
rents were  the  best  friends  after  all. 

"As  she  reached  the  cabin,  she  saw  the  old  folks 
outside,  apparently  looking  for  her.  The  open  hearth 
supported  a  goodly  fire.  Evidently  supper  was  nearly 
ready.  At  the  sight  of  them  she  tried  to  utter  a  cry, 
but  it  died  away  in  a  sound  like  the  gargling  of  a 
throat,  and  she  fell  in  a  heap  before  them,  flopping 
about  on  the  ground.  Both  father  and  mother, 
divining  the  tragedy,  ran  forward  to  pick  up  the  poor 
wounded  bird,  but  as  they  touched  her  they  uttered 
terrible  screams  and  quickly  turned  into  birds,  away 
from  the  sight  of  which  'Elgie'  rose  into  the  air, 
sobbing  with  inarticulate  misery.  The  parents  flew 
after  her,  with  painful,  unsteady  motions,  the  father 
calling  to  his  wife,  '\\  hip-her-well,  whip-her-well.'  But 
'Elgie'  kept  ahead  of  them,  and  they  circled  about 
through  the  pearly  dusk,  finally  sinking  down  on 
branches  of  trees  to  rest,  when  it  became  dark.  Oc 
tararo  had  wreaked  a  horrible  vengeance,  not  only 
changing  the  girl  into  a  bird,  but  endowing  her  with 
the  property  of  also  unwillingly  changing  her  parents 
on  touching  her. 

"The  next  evening,  when  Octararo  and  his  five  ugly 
daughters  were  seated  on  deer  skins  in  front  of  their 
cabin  smoking  long  pipes,  three  ridiculously  unsteady 
birds  appeared  in  the  silver  sky  of  twilight.  They  were 
full  grown  birds,  but  their  wings  were  as  badly  man- 


108  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

aged  as  if  they  were  fresh  from  the  nest.  The  two 
larger  birds  kept  chasing  one  that  was  slightly  slimmer 
and  smaller,  and  with  each  dive  and  circle  would  call 
out  in  strident  tones,  'Whip-her-well,  whip-her-well/ 
but  they  never  seemed  to  catch  up  with  her,  though  she 
was  as  clumsy  of  flight  as  they. 

"Old  Octararo  chuckled  and  pointed  up  to  the  birds ; 
the  girls  understood  and  laughed  uproariously.  'I  hope 
they  catch  her  and  whip  her  well/  said  the  ugliest  girl, 
as  she  almost  expired  with  merriment.  Their  sacred 
precincts  had  been  invaded,  but  the  trespassers  were 
punished.  And  from  that  time  on  this  sad,  mournful 
bird  of  the  dusk  has  been  known  as  the  'whip-her-well/ 
from  its  cry  on  the  wing.  There  appeared  simultan- 
eously a  wonderful  new  orchid  by  the  streams,  which 
came  to  be  called  moccasin  flowers,  or  whip-her-well 
shoes,  by  the  Indians,  'yellow  lady  slippers'  by  the 
whites.  The  beautiful  white  girl  of  the  Conococheague 
won  a  deathless  heritage,  but  it  does  seem  that  her 
punishment  was  more  than  she  deserved." 

"And  dost  thee  think  that  there  is  such  a  fate  in 
store  for  me  ?"  said  the  real  Elgie,  rather  timidly  look- 
ing at  Black  Laura  from  under  her  long  lashes. 

"I  do  not,  dear,"  replied  the  deformed  squaw.  "I 
believe  that  the  curse  will  end  through  you.  Your 
beauty,  so  much  like  the  poor  girl  I  have  told  you  of, 
coming  into  this  world  to  refesh  it,  will  release  the  im- 
prisoned spirits  from  Octararo's  unjust  spell." 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


109 


Elgie  Burston  often  thought  of  the  old  squaw's  pre- 
diction years  afterwards  as  she  heard  the  "whip-her- 
wells"  crying  on  the  wing  in  the  summer  evenings  as 
they  flitted  across  the  lawn.  Black  Laura's  hopeful 
sentiment  was  not  realized,  and  the  birds'  penance  is 
still  going  on,  and  will  go  on  as  long  as  there  is  rustic 
countryside  enough  left  in  Pennsylvania  to  shelter  the 
mournful  birds,  or  deep  meadow  woods  to  nourish  the 
beautiful  moccasin  flowers,  or  "whip-her-well  shoes." 


VIII.    The  Star  of  the  Glen 

ANDREW  CONTARINE  was"  a  young  Ulster 
Scot  who  established  himself  as  a  dealer  in 
jewelry  and  precious  stones  at  Harris'  Ferry, 
later  known  as  Louisbourg,  and  now  as  Harrisburg. 
He  was  a  well-educated  youth,  and  took  credit  that  his 
grandfather,  the  Rev.  Thomas  Contarine,  had  been 
the  friend  and  correspondent  of  the  celebrated  Oliver 
Goldsmith.  Hearing  of  the  great  activity  of  business 
and  the  abundance  of  money  in  the  Ohio  River  Valley, 
he  decided  to  transfer  his  energies  to  the  newer  town 
of  Pittsburg.  Accordingly,  accompanied  by  clerk  and 
a  servant,  he  started  overland  for  the  future  Iron 
City.  His  stock  and  personal  belongings  were  loaded 
on  two  horses,  while  the  three  members  of  the  party- 
were  also  mounted  on  good,  serviceable  steeds.  These 
were  rented  from  a  packing  company  at  Harrisburg, 
and  were  to  be  turned  over  to  the  agents  of  the  con  • 
cern  at  Pittsburg.  They  would  bait  the  animals  and1 
put  up  at  the  inns  recommended  by  the  packers.  Tlr* 
route  to  be  traversed  was  from  "the  Ferry"  to  Carlisle, 
to  Upper  Strasburg,  across  the  Broad  Mountains  to 
Horse  Valley,  across  Kittochtinny  Mountain  to  Path 
Valley  and  Fannettsburg,  over  the  Tuscarora  Moun- 
tain to  Burnt  Cabins,  thence  to  Fort  Littleton,  and 
along  what  is  now  the  Lincoln  Highway  to  Pittsburg. 
From  Upper  Strasburg  to  Burnt  Cabins  the  trail  was 
then  called,  and  is  still  known  as  the  Tri-Mountain 
Road,  and  from  Fort  Littleton  the  route  traversed  the 

110 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  111 

famous  line  of  march  of  Forbes  and  Bouquet  when  they 
marched  west  to  capture  Fort  Duquesne  in  1758,  and 
later  when  Colonel  Bouquet  returned  to  relieve  Fort 
Pitt  from  pressure  from  the  French  and  Indians  in 
1763. 

Andrew  Contarine  was  of  a  cheerful  and  agreea- 
ble disposition,  a  lover  of  natural  scenery  and  outdoor 
life,  consequently  the  trip  promised  to  be  most  agree- 
able to  him.  His  clerk  and  servant  were  both  non- 
resisting  Quakers,  but  the  perils  of  the  road  were  re- 
duced to  practically  nothing  by  the  orderly  regime  of 
the  Confederation.  He  was  not  entirely  unarmed  on 
the  journey,  for  in  one  of  his  packing  cases  was  a  set 
of  Irish  dueling  pistols  and  a  gentleman's  sword  cane, 
also  a  new  Lancaster  rifle,  in  case  he  wished  to  hunt 
big  game  in  the  wilder  parts  of  the  western  country. 
l)tit  on  his  person  he  carried  nothing  except  a  heavy 
brass  match-box,  or  tinder  box,  which  was  in  one  of 
his  hi]>  pockets.  He  had  intended  to  get  a  good  flint 
lock  pistol,  in  case  a  bear  or  wolf  crossed  the  road,  buf 
omitted  doing  so  before  his  departure. 

The  trip  from  Harrisburg  to  Carlisle  and  Upper 
Strasburg,  through  a  populous,  smiling  country,  was 
uneventful,  and  the  Cumberland  Valley  never  looked 
lovelier,  for  it  was  in  the  month  of  May.  In  making 
up  his  itinerary  he  had  arranged  to  spend  the  second 
night  at  a  tavern  on  the  top  of  the  Broad  Mountain 
recommended  to  him  by  one  of  his  Irish  friends  in 
Harrisburg  as  being  kept  by  a  fellow  Ulster  Scot,  and 
though  it  was  rather  further  on  than  he  would  have 


112  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

cared  to  go,  his  natural  clannishness  proved  too  strong 
an  incentive  to  resist.  There  was  a  commodious  inn  it 
Upper  Strasburg,  and  the  lights  were  all  aglow  as  his 
cavalcade  moved  by  it.  It  was  on  the  list  of  public 
houses  furnished  by  the  packers,  but  he  had  later  sub- 
stituted the  inn  on  the  mountain  kept  by  his  fellow 
Irishman.  The  climb  of  the  mountain  was  arduous, 
and  the  horses  began  to  show  the  effects  of  their  long 
day's  journey.  All  three  men  dismounted  and  walked 
beside  their  horses,  blowing  on  their  fingers,  for  the 
night  had  grown  suddenly  cold.  As  they  neared  the 
summit  they  climbed  back  on  their  jaded  horses,  and 
spurred  them  forward,  so  as  to  ride  up  to  the  mountain 
inn  in  good  style. 

As  the  great  square  structure  emerged  from  the 
gloom  they  were  surprised  that  no  lights  shone  in  the 
windows,  though  it  was  only  eight  o'clock,  and  no 
"watchdog's  honest  bark"  greeted'  their  arrival.  As 
Contarine  reined  his  horse  in  front  of  the  door  a  dark 
figure  emerged  from  the  hallway.  Instead  of  a 
friendly  welcome,  the  figure  called  out,  "Halt!  Hands 
up!"  This  might  have  stopped  an  easy-going  Penn- 
sylvania Dutchman,  but  not  a  mentally  alert  Ulster 
Scot  like  Andrew  Contarine.  Reaching  in  his  hio 
pocket  he  clicked  his  metallic  match  box  loudly.  "T 
have  the  drop  on  you,  stranger,"  he  called  back.  "Go 
back  in  that  house,  or  go  to  hell."  The  stranger  hesi- 
tated a  moment,  but  when  be  saw  the  horseman's 
hand,  evidently  holding  a  revolver  pointed  at  him,  he 
dropped  his  flintlock  rifle,  his  only  weapon,  and  re 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  113 


treated  into  the  building.  Contarine  kicked  his  heels 
into  his  horse ;  the  other  members  of  his  party  lashed 
their  mounts  into  motion,  and  soon  the  outfit  were 
clattering  down  the  rocky  mountain  road  towards 
Horse  Valley.  After  traveling  on  for  a  mile  or  more, 
they  were  relieved  to  see  a  light  gleaming  from  the 
valley,  "a  star  of  the  glen/'  and  they  urged  their  horses 
on  to  this  promised  haven. 

It  was  not  long  before  they  pulled  up  before  a 
genuine  inn,  a  large  stone  edifice.  Lights  were  aglow 
in  all  of  the  windows  on  the  ground  floor;  out  of  the 
door  emerged  a  genial  boniface,  who  greeted  the  wan- 
derers with  a  wholesome  North  of  Ireland  brogue. 
The  horses  were  quickly  put  away  by  a  Negro  stable- 
man, and  while  a- supper  was  being  prepared  they  en- 
tered the  bar-room  to  enjoy  Irish  conviviality  with 
their  landlord.  The  narrow  room  was  filled  with  tray 
elers,  hunters  and  farmers,  coming  and  going,  and 
much  whiskey  was  being  consumed.  Contarine  did  not 
intend  telling  of  his  adventure,  but  after  a  few  drinks 
his  servant  became  loquacious  and  blurted  it  all  out. 
"We  were  approached  by  a  highwayman  on  the  top  of 
the  mountain,  but  Mr.  Contarine  surely  did  outwit  the 
wily  blackguard ;  why,  he  had  only  to  click  his  match 
box,  and  the  thief  ran  away."  This  raised  a  great 
laugh  in  the  tap-room  from  all  except  the  landlord, 
Thomas  Ancketell,  who  looked  very  uneasy. 

Just  then  a  very  pretty,  tall,  slim  girl,  with  light- 
brown  hair,  very  distiui/uc,  appeared  in  the  doorway  to 
announce  supper,  and  the  party,  followed  by  the  land- 


114  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


lord,  filed  into  the  kitchen  across  the  hall.  When  they 
were  seated  the  landlord  said :  ''Gentlemen,  pardon 
my  intrusion,  but  I  think  you  made  a  great  mistake  to 
tell  the  story  of  your  ruse  on  that  highwayman  in  the 
tap-room;  it  was  full  of  strangers,  and  some  local  men 
who  like  to  live  without  working.  When  you  continue 
your  way  tomorrow  I  will  loan  you  a  first-class  horse - 
pistol,  so  if  the  thief  was  present  when  you  told  your 
story,  and  attempts  to  hold  you  up  again,  you  can  give 
him  a  dose  he'll  long  remember.  I  often  think  of  i 
story  that  my  father  told  me.  that  happened  in  the  old 
country,  in  the  Limerick  Mountains. 

"A  good  friend  of  his,  an  agent  for  Lord  Pery,  was 
entertained  at  supper  at  the  home  of  an  acquaintance, 
a  gentleman  of  rather  extravagant  tastes.  The  agent 
told  of  the  large  sum  of  money  he  had  on  his  person, 
and  how  he  carried  no  weapons  of  defense.  After 
supper  he  mounted  his  horse,  being  in  a  hurry,  and  rode 
off  into  the  night.  It  was  in  the  country  of  Bold 
Brennan,  that  noted  highwayman  'who  took  it  from 
the  rich  to  give  it  to  the  poor,'  and  as  he  rode  along 
the  Shallee  Turnpike  he  became  nervous,  not  for  his 
own  safety,  for  he  was  a  brave  man,  but  for  the  money 
which  he  carried  belonging  to  Lord  Pery.  He  stopped 
at  a  public  house  about  a  mile  further  on,  where  he 
knew  the  landlord,  and  borrowed  a  good  cap  and  ball 
pistol,  all  primed  and  loaded.  A  mile  still  further  he 
came  to  a  deep  cut  in  the  road,  the  way  narrow  and 
overshadowed  by  hedges  and  trees,  and  it  was  a  dark 
night.  A  figure  emerged  from  the  gloom  and  ordered 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  115 

him  to  halt.  Instead  my  father's  friend  quickly  drew 
his  Kavanagh  from  his  belt  and  shot  the  highwayman 
through  the  heart.  He  then  dismounted  and  examined 
his  victim,  who  wore  a  black  cotton  mask.  Lifting 
the  mask,  he  found  it  to  be  his  host  of  an  hour  before. 
As  they  were  both  gentlemen  and  moved  in  the  same 
social  circles,  the  slayer  did  not  wish  to  bring  disgrace 
to  the  highwayman's  family,  as  the  hold-up  might  have 
been  a  jest  to  impress  on  him  the  danger  of  carrying 
great  sums  of  money  on  his  person  when  unarmed. 
Tieing  his  horse  to  a  tree  he  carried  the  corpse  behind 
a  hedge,  and  finding  a  spade  nearby,  buried  him,  re- 
mounted and  rode  on.  I  have  a  good'  horse  pistol  here. 
You  must  take  it  in  case  you  were  overheard  in  the'  tap- 
room by  any  one  concerned  in  your  recent  unpleas- 
antness." 

Contarine  demurred  at  first,  but  at  length  accepted 
the  weapon,  promising  to  send  it  back  from  Pittsburg 
with  one  of  the  packers.  "What  is  your  name,  land"- 
lord?"  he  said,  as  he  was  getting  up  from  the  table. 
"Ancketell,"  replied  the  boniface.  "Why,  I  was  told 
that  you  kept  hotel  on  the  top  of  Broad  Mountain, 
where  the  fellow  tried  to  rob  me."  "I  did,  until  April 
first,  last,"  replied  the  boniface.  "Rut  old  Jacob  Bar- 
ner  built  this  fine  stone  tavern  stand  and  made  me 
such  a  good  offer  that  I  decided  to  leave  the  mountain 
and  bring  my  family  nearer  to  civilization."  "Is  that 
your  daughter  who  waited  on  the  table ?"  queried  Con- 
tarine. "She  is,"  said  Ancketell.  Then  Contarine  told 
of  their  mutual  friend  who  had  recommended  that  he 


116  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

stay  with  Ancketell,  and  they  became  very  good 
friends.  Chairs  were  drawn  up  about  the  inglenook, 
pipes  were  lit,  and  after  the  dishes  were  wiped  Eleanor 
Ancketell,  the  fair  waitress,  joined  them. 

Contarine  was  charmed  by  the  beauty  and  refine- 
ment of  this  girl,  who  was  destined  to  go  down  in  his- 
tory in  the  narrative  of  the  Pennsylvania  travels  of 
Thomas  Ashe,  an  English  globe  trotter,  who  spent  a 
night  at  the  tavern  on  Broad  Mountain  in  1806,  and 
was  deeply  impressed  by  her  extraordinary  beauty  and 
intelligence.  After  the  others  had  retired  Contarine 
and  Eleanor  continued  to  sit  by  the  fire,  far  into  the 
"wee  small  hours,"  as  the  girl  was  always  glad  to  meet 
gentlefolk  and  to  exchange  ideas  on  a  par  with  her 
educational  advantages.  It  was  late,  therefore,  the 
next  morning  when  Andrew  Contarine's  caravan  re- 
sumed its  journey  towards  Pittsburg.  The  clerk  and 
servant  had  gotten  pretty  well  "yorked"  in  the  tap- 
room, as  had  Ancketell  himself,  and  they  were  a  sorry 
looking  crew  in  the  morning.  The  rest  was  good  for 
the  horses,  so  no  real  harm  was  done. 

It  had  been  Contarine's  intention  to  put  up  at  the 
McCormick  tavern  on  Sideling  Hill  for  the  night,  and 
he  could  easily  have  reached  it  before  dark,  if  he  had 
gotten  started  in  time.  As  it  was,  darkness  fell  before 
they  were  within  five  miles  of  that  public  house.  Again 
the  horses  showed  signs  of  weariness  and  lagged  be- 
neath their  loads.  Again  the  night  set  in  chilly,  with  a 
raw  wind.  They  espied  a  light  gleaming  in  a  small 
stone  cabin  by  the  road  at  a  spot  which  commanded  a 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  117 

marvelous  view  of  the  surrounding  country,  and  Con- 
tarine  decided  to  stop  there  to  get  warm.  An  old  sol- 
dier, MacCochran,  a  Highlander  from  Forbes'  army, 
opened  the  door  and  welcomed  them.  A  cheery  fire 
was  burning  in  the  great  open  fireplace,  throwing  its 
light  at  times  upon  a  framed  but  stained  engraving  of 
Charles  Edward  Stuart,  the  young  Pretender,  and  his 
wife,  Madame  d' Albany,  which  hung  on  the  opposite 
wall.  The  old  man  brought  out  some  good  \\rest  India 
rum  and  the  entire  party  regaled  themselves  for  an 
hour.  "This  is  an  historic  fireplace,"  said  the  soldier. 
"As  we  were  marching  to  the  west  in  '58,  General 
Forbes  had  one  of  his  fainting  fits  and  we  carried  him 
in  here.  After  he  recovered  consciousness  he  talked 
to  himself  concerning  an  early  love  affair,  and 
imagined  that  the  girl  was  in  the  room.  I  took 
a  fancy  to  the  little  place  at  the  time  and  bought  it 
when  the  Revolution  ended,  and  have  kept  the  wood- 
work of  the  fireplace  painted  and'  in  good  condition  for 
its  historical  associations.  The  soldier  urged  them  to 
remain  all  night,  but  Contarine  deemed  it  the  be?t 
judgment  to  press  on  to  McCormick's. 

They  had  gone  on  for  a  couple  of  miles  up  the  steep, 
rocky  face  of  the  mountain,  when  suddenly  out  stepped 
a  man,  cloaked  to  his  heels,  from  behind  a  big  pine 
tree.  "Halt!  Hands  up!"  he  shouted,  just  as  the 
figure  had  done  on  Broad  Mountain.  Contarine  had 
been  riding  with  his  hand  on  the  holster,  and  like  a 
flash  whipped  out  his  pistol.  "Drop  your  gun,  or  you 
are  a  dead  man."  The  highwayman  laughed  and 


118  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


shouted  insolently :  ''You  cannot  fool  me  with  your 
match-box  twice."  As  a  reply  Contarine  fired  at  him, 
shooting  him  dead.  Handing  his  horse  over  to  his 
servant  he  dismounted  and  examined  his  victim. 
There  were  no  distinguishing  marks  about  him,  but  by 
the  light  of  a  fire  of  rich  pine  kindled  from  the  match- 
box, the  clerk  and  the  servant  declared  that,  they  had 
seen  him  in  the  tap-room  at  Ancketell's  the  .night  be- 
fore. Finding  some  sharp  stakes,  the  men  set  to, 
despite  the  half  frozen  condition  of  the  ground,  and 
buried  the  road  agent  beside  the  trail.  He  had  been 
shot  through  the  heart,  the  bullet  coming  out  of  his 
back.  The  party  resumed  their  way,  and  in  another 
hour  were  safely  within  the  home-garth  of  McCor- 
mick's  travelers'  rest.  The  genial  landlord  and  his 
German  hostler  came  out  to  receive  them.  Needless 
to  say,  the  party  were  careful  not  to  say  anything  about 
highwaymen,  though  they  heard  much  talk  on  the  sub- 
ject in  the  tap-room. 

A  road  agent  had  been  operating  all  along  the  pike 
from  Upper  Strasburg  to  Bloody  Run  ;  he  was  proba- 
bly a  stranger,  as  no  one  had  recognized  him.  He  had 
already  secured  a  score  of  victims,  as  that  number  of 
persons  had  unbosomed  their  hard  luck  stories  at  Mc- 
Cormick's.  "It  is  a  great  wonder  that  he  did  not  try 
his  hand  on  you,"  said  the  landlord  to  Contarine.  The 
servant  who  was  listening  spoke  up.  "Mr.  Contarine 
carried  a  loaded  pistol  at  his  belt,  and  any  highwayman 
who  would  tackle  him  might  get  a  bullet  in  his  heart." 
"I  am  not  a  desperate  character,"  said  the  jeweler. 


The  Path 

Over 
YeUow  Ridge 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


-houred  ins.vemK  :  "You  cannot  fool  me  vvith  yonr 
match  box  i  \vice."  A?  a  reply  Contarine  fired  at  him. 
-hooting  hiir  dead.  Handing  his  horse  over  to  his 
.-'tvant  he  >.i:sn" 'Vuned  and  examinee!  his  victim. 
"  here  \\  <"•-.  p.u  distinguishing  marks  about  him,  but  by 
the  -i^ht  of  .'  I- re  o*  rich  pine  kindled  from  the  match- 
!-.:x,  iht;  c'eik  and  'he  serx.snt  declared  that  they  had 
si'/i  liim  in  tin:  tai'-ioom  ot  Aneketell's  the  .night  be- 
/•••>re.  l';ijid:ng  SOTUL-  >harn  stake-,  the  men  set  to. 

ground,  and 
Me  had  been 


party  resiuncu  ineir  \vay. 


,vi 


T!K    Denial  ku 
i«  wolbY 


n};r  our  01   nis 
mi  I-M  another 


lorne-gat  th   -oi    McCor- 


and   his 
Heedless 
",}-n\v  about 
• '!    -:h'.-  su'n- 


iV.is  proba- 
.j/i-  !  him.     He  ha..l 
a-   :!"iat  nuiriber  or 
buk  stones  at  Me-- 
tiu;t   be  di'.i  not   tiy 
to  ( j.>''t.anne.     The 
up.     "Mr.  Contarin 
.  highwayman 
.•n!k-t  in  h;-  iieart.' 


cuava., t'.r. 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  119 


quietly ;  ''I  am  quite  the  contrary,  but  I  must  stand  up 
for  my  rights  on  the  highway."  "That  is  right  and 
proper,"  replied  McGormick ;  "they  should  be  shot 
down  like  wolves." 

Supper  was  announced,  this  time  by  an  Indian 
woman,  and  after  the  meal  Contarine  sat  for  a  long 
time  by  the  inglenook,  sipping  toddy.  When  the  oth- 
ers had  left  the  room  he  drew  up  an  empty  chair  and 
placed  it  in  the  same  position  that  Eleanor  Ancketell 
had  sat  by  him  in  her  father's  kitchen  the  night  before. 
Me  was  thinking,  thinking  deeply,  not  of  his  two  ad- 
ventures with  the  knight  of  the  road,  or  the  newly- 
made  grave  on  the  crest  of  Sideling  Hill,  but  of  the 
fair,  slim  girl  he  had  left  behind  in  the  valley  of  the 
Conococheague.  Half  a  dozen  times  before  he  re- 
tired he  was  lirmly  resolved  to  return  to  Horse  Valley 
the  next  morning  and  make  known  his  love,  but  his 
mind  would  veer  about  when  he  thought  of  his  ambi- 
tions in  Pittsburg — he  could  return  after  his  new  busi- 
ness was  running  smoothly. 

Xext  morning  his  cavalcade  were  again  late  in  get- 
ting started,  but  the  fault  was  not  with  the  servant  or 
the  clerk  or  with  McCormick,  but  with  Andrew  Con- 
tarine himself.  He  had  passed  a  restless  night,  and  it 
was  only  towards  daybreak  when  he  secured  any  sleep 
at  all.  As  it  was,  he  looked  gaunt  and  haggard  when 
he  mounted  his  horse  and  started  on  towards  the  new 
life  beyond  the  Alleghenies.  It  is  said  that  he  pros- 
pered in  Pittsburg  and  built  up  a  large  business,  mar- 
ried and  reared  a  large  family  ;  if  he  returned  east  again 


120  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

there  is  certainly  no  record  of  his  having  stopped  at 
Ancketell's  and  renewed  his  brief  romance  with  the 
landlord's  unusual  daughter.  That  was  a  chapter  in 
his  life,  like  the  killing  of  the  highwayman,  which  was 
locked  forever  in  his  heart  of  hearts,  and  not  for 
mortal  confidences. 

The  passing  of  the  highwayman  was  noted,  but  no 
one.  not  even  landlord  Ancketell,  coupled  his  disap- 
pearance with  the  Contarine  cavalcade.  A  careful 
scrutiny  was  made  of  all  the  questionable  characters 
along  the  pike,  but  as  no  one  was  accounted  missing, 
the  highwayman  must  have  been  a  stranger  in  ths 
neighborhood.  He  was  amazed  one  evening  when  i 
packer  came  into  the  tap-room  and  handed  him  back 
the  pistol,  with  Contarine's  thanks  and  compliments. 
On  the  handle  was  cut  a  deep  "nick,"  such  as  Indian 
killers  were  wont  to  mark  on  their  firearms  in  the 
early  days.  It  set  the  good-natured  boniface  to  cogi- 
tating. Could  his  guest  who  told  him  of  his  encounter 
on  the  top  of  Broad  Mountain  have  met  and  slain  the 
robber  further  on  ?  He  queried  the  packer  closely,  but 
he  was  able  to  tell  nothing.  Ancketell  offered  the  fel- 
low a  jorum,  and  as  they  drank  together,  the  landlord 
was  soon  telling  him  the  story  of  how  his  father's 
friend  on  the  Shallee  Turnpike  had  shot  his  erstwhile 
host,  who  had  counted  on  finding  him  unarmed  when 
he  halted  him  on  the  dark  and  lonely  highway. 


IX.    Ghosts  of  the  Living 

WHEN  the  English  traveler,  Thomas  Ashe,  vis- 
ited Ancketell's  tavern  on  the  top  of  Broad 
Mountain  in  1806,  he  may  have  met  an  old 
Highlander  who,  irrespective  of  cold'  and  warm 
weather,  wore  a  shawl  of  the  McGarrah  clan,  and  was 
generally  in  evidence  about  the  hostelry.  He  came 
every  morning  from  his  farm  on  the  Horse  Valley  side 
of  the  mountain  to  get  his  drink  of  usquebaugh,  and 
later,  when  Ancketell  moved  to  a  new  stand1  in  Horse 
Valley,  he  remained  about  the  premises  all  day  long. 
He  was  slow  to  make  acquaintances,  lacking  as  he  did 
that  easy  approachability  so  noticeable  in  the  Pennsyl- 
vania Dutchman,  and  never  "scraped  up"  conversa- 
tions with  the  hosts  of  travelers  who  passed  in  and  out 
of  the  wine  room  where  he  had  his  favorite  seat  by  the 
inglenook.  If  he  was  spoken  to  he  would  be  civil 
enough,  but  he  had  enough  of  self-pride  to  hold  him- 
self aloof  from  familiarity.  That  Thomas  Ashe  did 
not  mention  him  in  his  inimitable  pen-picture  of  the 
Upper  Strasburg  public-house  evidences  that  even 
with  the  distinguished  young  Englishman  he  main- 
tained his  wall  of  reserve.  With  Eleanor  Ancketell, 
the  landlord's  daughter,  he  was  on  more  friendly 
terms  than  with  any  one  else.  He  intimated  to  her 
that  he  had  had  a  very  adventuresome  life,  and  that 
some  day  he  would  tell  her  about  it.  It  was  a  year  or 
more  after  conveying  this  bit  of  information  that  he 
finally  unbosomed  some  phases  of  his  existence.  It 

121 


122  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

was  a  snowy  afternoon,  and  the  old  man  was  storm- 
stayed',  and  as  there  were  no  other  guests  he  became 
very  talkative.  He  had  been  born  in  the  Highlands  of 
Scotland,  near  the  romantic  little  lake  of  Lochabar, 
''the  lake  of  the  horns,"  where  the  Highland  stags  were 
wont  to  cool  their  crests  at  the  time  of  mewing,  and 
the  tangle  of  reeds  and  moss  would  facilitate  them  to 
loosen  their  antlers,  which  were  often  strewn  thick 
along  the  banks  at  some  seasons  of  the  year.  He  was 
the  son  of  a  small  landed  proprietor,  but  his  tenden- 
cies were  more  towards  wandering  about  through  the 
hills  and  glens,  and  hunting,  than  to  settle  down  to  the 
calm  existence  of  overseer  of  a  bleak  upland  pasture 
farm. 

Nearby  was  a  similar  property  known  as  Primrose 
House,  the  daughter  of  the  laird  of  which  appealed' 
greatly  to  the  fancy  of  the  young  mountaineer.  She 
was  several  years  younger  than  he,  with  very  black 
hair  and  eyes,  and  a  complexion  like  old  ivory,  very 
slim  and  of  more  than  the  average  height,  lithe  and 
graceful.  There  seemed  to  be  no  reason  to  retard  the 
romance,  especially  as  the  parents  of  both  families  ap- 
proved, and  the  happy  hours  moved  along  towards  the 
day  when  a  marriage  would  result.  The  young  lover, 
though  passionately  devoted  to  his  fiance,  whom  he 
called  Argyra,  was  of  a  quick-tempered  and  jealous 
disposition.  Proud  and  reserved,  he  was  always  look- 
ing for  slights,  and  before  he  was  twenty  years  of  age 
had  fought  several  bloodless  duels.  His  belligerent 
spirit  worried  his  parents,  but  the  old  minister  of  the 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  123 

neighborhood  suggested  that  the  lad  would  find  an 
outlet  for  his  nature  in  a  military  career ;  that  amid 
the  clash  of  arms  would  find  an  expression  for  his 
active  personality.  Accordingly  a  commission  as  a 
subaltern  in  one  of  the  Highland  Regiments  destined 
for  service  in  America  was  obtained  for  him  by  consid- 
erable wire-pulling  on  the  part  of  his  father  and  other 
relatives,  and  with  very  brief  training  he  embarked 
with  one  of  General  John  Forbes'  convoys  for  the  con- 
quest of  R;rl  Duquesne.  lie  served  with  the  ill-fated 
Major  Thrale  in  Grant's  badly  judged  attack,  was  cap- 
tured by  the  Indians  and  forced  to  run  the  gauntlet  on 
the  "race  ground"  below  the  fort,  between  stakes,  on 
which  were  impaled  the  heads  and  effigies  of  many  of 
his  former  companions  and  men.  Almost  beaten  to 
death,  he  had  enough  vitality  to  knock  down  the  last 
Indian  who  struck  at  him.  He  had  been  carried  down 
the  river  on  a  batteau  to  an  encampment,  where  after 
man}'  months  he  recovered  sufficiently  to  take  a  retro- 
spective view  of  the  past  year's  follies.  He  had  gone 
to  Edinburgh  in  response  to  an  urgent  message  that 
lie  could'  have  the  commission  if  he  appeared  at  once 
at  the  castle ;  only  his  parents  had  gone  with  him,  and 
lie  had  not  time  to  say  farewell  to  Argyra,  it  had  all 
been  so  sudden.  It  was  take  the  commission  and  go, 
or  return  to  say  good-bye  and  perhaps  lose  it,  and  his 
taste  for  adventure  across  the  seas  appealed  to  him 
more  than  to  see  the  girl  whom  he  knew  loved  him, 
and  who  would  probably  be  waiting  when  he  returned, 
like  in  the  old  ballad  of  Glencoe. 


124  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

In  London,  where  he  was  stationed  for  two  weeks 
before  sailing  for  America,  he  became  enamored  with 
a  girl  of  good  family,  and  forgot  the  great  part  of 
his  vows  to  Argyra.  This  girl  had  wealth  and  influen- 
tial relatives,  would  help  his  military  fortunes,  besides 
was  very  beautiful.  This  romance  had  not  progressed 
very  far  when  he  was  ordered  away  from  London, 
and  soon  began  his  journey  to  America.  He  put  off 
writing  to  Argyra  from  day  to  day,  ending  by  not 
writing  to  her  at  all. 

He  had  been  nursed  back  to  health  by  a  comely 
Shawnee  maid  on  the  Ohio,  and,  feeling  a  sense  of 
loneliness,  married  her  and  was  adopted  into  the  tribe. 
But  a  self-contained,  dignified  Scot  soon  felt  himself 
out  of  place  among  the  out-spoken  and  uproarious  In- 
dians, and  rued  his  bargain.  He  was  glad  to  include 
himself  among  the  hostages  to  be  turned  over  to 
Colonel  Bouquet  at  the  time  of  the  treaty  of  17G4,  and 
though  he  pretended  to  part  from  his  Indian  wife  and 
child  with  many  regrets,  and  fervent  promises  to  re- 
turn for  them  the  next  year,  he  secretly  rejoiced  at 
being  carried  to  Carlisle.  He  was  a  good-looking 
youth,  of  average  height,  well  built  and  of  sandy  com- 
plexion ;  he  had  those  acutely  clear-cut  features  so 
distinctive  of  his  race,  and  eyes  of  a  peculiarly  trans- 
parent shade  of  blue. 

On  the  way  east  he  became  very  much  attached  to 
the  beautiful  Regina  Hartman,  of  Schuylkill  County, 
who  was  in  the  party  and  was  to  be  restored  to  her 
mother  after  a  captivity  of  nine  years  among  the  In- 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  125 


clians.  He  would  have  married  her  if  she  had  in  the 
least  encouraged  him.  Regina  was  a  girl  of  religious 
nature,  almost  to  the  point,  of  fanaticism,  and  her 
dream  was  to  he  reunited  to  her  family  to  hecome  a 
religious  devotee,  aid  was  cold  to  the  advances  of  her 
Scotch  admirer. 

Marie  Le  Roy,  a  French  girl  in  the  same  contingent, 
proved  more  responsive,  and  before  they  had'  reached 
Carlisle  the  Highlander  fancied  he  cared  for  her  as 
much  as  the  unworldly  Regina.  In  the  excitement  of 
family  reunions  and  rejoicings  the  Scotch  lad  lost  sight 
of  hoth  Regina  and  Marie  and  emerged  from  his  cap- 
tivity fancy  free. 

He  went  to  board  in  a  North  of  Ireland  family,  at 
Carlisle  Springs,  named  McCauley,  people  of  consid- 
erable means  and  strong  connections.  He  took  up  the 
profession  of  surveying  under  old  Thomas  Jones,  and 
showed  a  natural  aptitude  for  the  profession.  In  his 
quiet  hours  he  began  to  feel  pangs  of  remorse  over  his 
treatment  of  his  Indian  wife  and  child  on  the  Ohio  and 
started  overland  in  search  of  them.  To  his  dismay  he 
learned  that  they  had  moved  further  west,  and  he 
tracked  them  with  Scottish  persistence  almost  to  the 
banks  of  the  Missouri,  only  to  find  his  wife  married  to 
another  white  man,  a  German,  and  his  child  adopted 
by  its  stepfather.  He  did  not  like  to  force  himself 
into  this  home,  and  made  his  informants  promise  him 
that  they  would  never  tell  his  former  wife  that  he  had 
been  within  five  miles  of  her  home.  His  analytical 
mind  told  him  that  he  had  done  wrong  to  plot  to 


126  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

abandon  tliem,  and  he  should  not  expect  to  profit  by 
an  eleventh  hour  repentance.  Resigned  to  this  situa- 
tion, especially  as  he  heard  that  the  Indian  woman 
had  married  a  man  of  some  means  and  that  his  child 
was  well  cared  for,  he  turned  his  head  eastward,  and 
was  back  at  Carlisle  after  an  absence  of  three  years. 
He  became  connected  with  the  early  surveying  parties 
in  the  mountains  west  of  the  Cumberland  Valley,  and 
took  up  considerable  bodies  of  land  in  what  became 
Cumberland,  Franklin  and  Bedford  Counties.  He 
still  made  his  home  with  the  McCauley  family  at  the 
Springs. 

At  one  time  they  had  as  girl-of-all-work  a  very 
pretty  German  girl  named  Molly  Ludwig.  who  later 
was  famed  as  "Moll  Pitcher,''  the  heroine  of  the  Battle 
of  Monmouth  in  the  Revolution.  After  the  war  Molly 
married  a  son  of  her  former  employer,  who  had  served 
through  the  Revolution,  but  had  previously  been  the 
wife  of  Sergeant  Hays,  of  the  Revolution,  who  died 
during  the  war.  The  Highlander  was  very  much  im- 
pressed by  Molly  Ludwig' s  charms,  and  contemplated 
marrying  her.  as  he  had  never  been  legally  united  to 
the  Indian  girl,  yet  he  could  not  quite  bring  himself  to 
do  so.  as  he  was  absent  so  much,  and  had  acquired 
the  restless,  wandering  spirit  of  the  frontier.  He 
thought  that  Moll}'  liked  him  quite  well,  though  in 
reality  her  heart  was  given  to  young  McCauley,  yet 
whom  she  dared  not  aspire  to  marry  because  of  his 
social  position.  What  the  outcome  of  this  romance 
would  have  been  is  hard  to  divine  ;  it  dragged  along 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  127 


several  years,  until  the  outbreak  at  Lexington  told 
the  canny  Scot  that  a  war  between  the  mother  country 
and  the  colonies  was  imminent. 

Surely  his  sympathies  were  not  with  the  colonies, 
ungratefully  trying  to  break  loose  from  the  apron 
strings  of  their  parent ;  he  had  seen  much  of  the  wars 
of  Forbes  and  .Bouquet  and  had  imbibed  a  thoroughly 
British  point  of  view.  He  could  not  remain  and  re- 
fuse to  serve  in  the  Colonial  Army  in  such  a  patriotic 
valley,  and  to  be  a  Tory  was  unthinkable,  so  he  de- 
cided on  another  course — to  return  to  his  native  land. 
As  he  turned  his  head  towards  the  coast  he  began  to 
think  of  Argyra,  possible  over  there  still  waiting  for 
him.  Me  had  never  inquired  about  her  in  his  infre- 
quent letters  to  his  parents ;  neither  had  they  ever 
alluded  to  her  in  their  letters  to  him.  It  was  all  very 
strange  that  she  had  dropped  out  of  his  life  so  com- 
pletely. He  had  dreamed  of  her  a  number  of  times 
while  he  was  deciding  which  course  to  pursue  in  the 
war.  She  appeared  to  him  always  attired  in  white 
satin,  as  a  refined  specimen  of  femininity,  far  superior 
to  all  the  strange  love  affairs  he  had  been  through  in 
the  American  wilderness.  He  must  go  back  to  her; 
his  duty  to  a  first  love  was  as  great  as  to  his  nation. 
Yet  he  had  no  cowardly  sentiments,  for  it  was  also 
his  resolve  to  enter  some  military  organization  in 
England,  to  serve  in  India,  or  anywhere,  as  he  merely 
did  not  wish  to  take  part  in  what  he  called  "that  silly 
American  difference."  His  thoughts  became  filled 
with  images  of  Argyra,  and  he  began  to  feel  that  the 


128  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

war  was  incidental  to  carrying  out  his  mission  to- 
wards making  amends.  He  was  only  seven  and 
thirty,  and  decidedly  young  looking,  not  stout,  and 
with  no  signs  of  grey  in  his  fine  head  of  auburn  hair. 
Argyra  might  not  look  girlish ;  she  would  be  about 
thirty-three,  and  dark  folks  are  said  to  age  faster  than 
fair  ones ;  still  he  was  sure  that  if  she  looked  half 
as  well  as  in  his  dreams  she  could  not  be  otherwise 
than  beautiful. 

The  trip  to  Scotland  was  not  without  its  difficulties, 
as  eastbound  ocean  travel  was  forbidden  from  all 
ports  controlled  by  the  Colonists.  It  took  a  lot  of 
bribery  and  some  political  influence  from  Scotch  ac- 
quaintances to  get  him  safely  aboard  an  outgoing  ves- 
sel. After  a  long  and  perilous  journey,  during  which 
the  ship  was  chased  out  of  its  course  by  either  an 
American  man-of-war  or  a  pirate,  a  landing  was 
made  at  a  small  Scotch  port  called  Campbelltown, 
and'  the  prodigal  Highlander  set  out  by  way  of  In- 
vera'ry  and  Fort  William  for  the  remote  regions  of 
Lochabar.  It  was  in  the  early  part  of  1776  when 
his  final  overland  journey  to  the  Highlands  com- 
menced. The  country  seemed  as  wild  as  what  he  had 
left  behind  in  Pennsylvania,  only  more  desolate,  as 
forest  fires  and  the  reckless  destruction  of  timber  had 
made  the  mountains  barren  wastes,  treeless  except 
for  a  few  birches  or  aspens,  as  far  as  the  eye  could 
reach.  "How  can  such  lonely  views  be  called  beau- 
tiful?" he  mused,  as  he  rode  along,  his  horse  sinking 
sometimes  breast  deep  into  the  snow.  "My  taste  has 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  129 

changed'  since  I  have  been  in  Pennsylvania ;  to  my 
mind  there  is  no  beauty  in  scenery  where  there  are  no 
trees."  The  destruction  of  the  timber  had  worked 
havoc  among  the  game.  The  wolves  were  gone,  the 
deer  and  roes  very  rare,  and  game  birds  scarcely  ever 
met  with.  He  must  have  seen  a  country  and  noted 
conditions  strikingly  similar  to  that  existing  in  Penn- 
sylvania today,  for  the  forest  fires  and  the  reckless 
lumbermen  have  destroyed  the  forests,  the  wolves 
are  gone,  deer  are  few,  and  one  can  travel  from  Car- 
lisle to  Ikirnt  Cabins  and  never  see  a  game  bird', 
grouse,  quail,  plover  or  woodcock! 

After  riding  for  three  days  he  came  into  the  vicin- 
ity of  Lochabar,  could  see  it  lying  below  him  like  a 
crystal  mirror  of  the  vale,  surrounded  by  snow-cov- 
ered, desolate  mountains.  There  were  some  superb 
beechwoods  near  Lochabar,  also  some  magnificent 
plantations  of  larch  and  fir,  made  by  local  noblemen, 
which  gave  an  intimation  of  the  pristine  beauties  of 
the  neighborhood.  It  was  while  passing  through  one 
of  these  beechwoods  that  he  saw  a  marten,  and  put 
up  a  covey  of  black-game.  Hfe  had  heard  as  a  boy 
that  these  native  woodland's  were  once  filled  with 
wolves  and  when  the  edict  went  out  to  burn  all  for- 
ests to  drive  out  the  wild  beasts  the  local  landowners 
had  objected  so  strenuously  that  they  were  saved. 
He  wondered  if  these  great  woodlands  still  harbored 
the  last  stray  wolf  of  Scotland  ;  he  hoped  so,  and  if 
they  could  talk,  what  tales  those  noble,  gnarled'  old 
trees  could  tell !  It  was  a  chill  evening,  with  a  sharp 


130  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

wind  which  blew  the  snow  into  his  eyes  when  he 
alighted  from  his  horse  in  front  of  the  bright  lit  win- 
dows of  the  old  stone  mansion.  "Glenturret,"  his 
family  home.  His  parents  were  no  more,  but  his 
three  brothers  and  a  married  sister  greeted  him  affec- 
tionately. They  led  him  into  the  great  hall,  where 
a  fire  of  beech  logs  was  blazing  in  the  ancient  fire- 
place which  gilded  the  sombre  cuirasses,  burgonets. 
morions  and  Highland  broad-swords  hanging  on  the 
opposite  wall.  It  was  a  sad  homecoming  with  the 
paretii.s  gone;  he  was  self-contained,  but  old  mem- 
ories of  a  better  and  happier  day  rose  incessantly 
before  him.  He  asked  no  questions  concerning 
Argyra  for  some  time,  but  noted  that  nothing 
was  said  concerning  her.  Before  retiring,  while 
the  midnight  gale  was  blowing  down  the  s-tone 
chimney  in  biting  gusts,  the  four  brothers  sat 
about  the  fire  for  a  final  toddy  and  talk.  The  young 
man  from  the  American  wilds  so  directed  the  con- 
versation as  to  cause  Argyra's  name  to  be  mentioned, 
but  there  was  a  silence,  and  the  brothers  looked  at 
one  another  in  a  manner  which  might  indicate  that 
the  subject  was  one  that  ought  to  be  changed.  The 
prodigal  did  not  press  the  matter,  but  waited  until 
his  youngest  brother  had  lit  him  up  to  his  room  ;  he 
invited  the  lad  in,  and  boldly  asked  him  why  there 
was  such  a  silence  when  Argyra's  name  was  men- 
tioned. This  brother,  who  was  only  a  child  when  the 
Highland  officer  went  away,  probably  knew  less  of 
the  story  than  any  other  member  of  the  family.  He 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  131 

finally  consented  to  talk,  and  stood  leaning  against 
the  fireplace,  fidgeting  nervously  while  he  told  all  that 
he  could  of  the  strange  episode,  the  rushlight  flick- 
ering in  his  unsteady  hand.  ''We  always  supposed 
that  you  went  away  so  suddenly  because  shortly 
afterwards  a  gilly  named  Keating,  who  worked  for 
Argyra's  father,  disappeared.  It  was  said  that  you 
disliked  him  because  she  talked  so  much  about  him, 
and  would  have  been  jealous  if  a  gentleman  can  have 
such  feelings  for  a  fellow,  and  it  was  thought  that 
you  had  him  made  away  with,  if  he  was  too  vulgar 
for  you  to  have  killed  him  yourself."  The  returned 
soldier's  eyes  opened  wide  in  excitement.  "It  is  ab- 
solutely untrue,"  he  said.  "I  knew  nothing  of  this; 
I  did  not  return  to  say  farewell  to  Argyra  because  I 
was  afraid  of  losing  my  commission — but  pardon  my 
interruption,  please  go  on."  The  lad  resumed  his 
story.  "You  did  not  return  to  say  farewell  to  Argyra, 
neither  did  you  write  her  from  Edinburgh,  from 
London  or  from  the  ship.  In  fact,  she  never  got  a 
letter  from  you  at  all.  She  was  very  much  humiliated 
and  felt  that  it  was  all  caused  by  her  ill-advised  re- 
marks concerning  the  gilly  Keating.  You  did  not 
write  father  or  mother  until  long  after  you  reached 
America,  just  as  you  were  starting  on  the  expedition 
for  the  Western  wilds  with  General  Forbes.  We, 
too.  ascribed  that  silence  not  to  forgetfulness  but  to 
your  affray  over  the  gilly."  The  soldier  hung  his 
head.  "What  a  terrible  misunderstanding  this  is ! 
It  is  true  that  my  face  did  flush  when  Argyra  praised 


132  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

a  gilly,  but  that  was  all ;  I  would'  no  more  have  harmed 
him  than  one  of  my  brothers;  I  should  have  treated 
Argyra  better,  but  a  soldier  sees  many  pretty  faces, 
and  my  head  was  in  a  whirl  of  excitement;  that  was 
why  I  never  wrote  her  and  waited  so  long  before 
penning  to  my  dear  father  and  mother.  "But  where 
is  Argyra?"  he  broke  in. 

"Where  is  Argyra?"  repeated  the  brother.  "She 
went  to  Carlisle — the  English  Carlisle,  not  the  town 
in  Pennsylvania — to  visit  some  of  her  kin,  as 
she  was  heart-broken  by  your  silence,  and  the 
story  that  was  whispered  about  concerning  the  dis- 
appearance of  the  gilly.  There  she  met  a  young 
clergyman  of  the  English  Church  Who  was  going  to 
the  Indies,  and  married  him ;  her  parents,  too  are  dead, 
her  immediate  family  moved  away,  and  we  know 
nothing  further  about  her.  The  last  I  heard  of  her 
was  that  she  is  the  mother  of  two  fine  sons." 

The  Highlander  thanked  his  brother  and  retired. 
He  passed  a  sleepless  night  for  the  most  part,  in  one 
of  his  drowsy  moments  he  saw  Argyra  before  him 
clad  in  white  satin  and  she  reached  out  her  arms  and 
said,  "I  love  you !"  Then  he  awoke  to  all  the  deso- 
lation of  his  wasted  life.  In  the  morning  he  was 
downstairs  long  before  the  other  members  of  the 
household,  eager  to  disabuse  their  minds  of  the  cruel 
aspersion  that  had  rested  on  him  all  these  years.  He 
had  acted  reprehensibly  but  was  no  skulking  inciter 
of  a  homicide.  This  created  a  better  feeling  all 
around,  and  the  soldier  fancied  that  his  soul  felt  more 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  133 

quiet  and  happier.  On  the  following  Sunday  after- 
noon he  went  for  a  walk  across  the  hills  and  neared 
the  old.  stone  kirk  just  before  afternoon  services 
were  beginning.  There  were  very  few  worshippers 
in  the  Church  as  he  entered,  and  made  his  way  to  the 
family  pew.  In  the  pew  nearest  the  altar,  on  the 
side  of  the  aisle  on  which  he  was  seated,  he  saw  ^ 
slim,  girlish  figure,  with  very  black  hair,  clad  in  a 
white  satin  gown  with  a  high  collar,  masses  of  black 
hair  showing  from  under  a  large  felt  hat.  In  the 
gloom,  for  it  was  a  dark  afternoon,  and  the  candles 
had  not  been  lit,  she  appeared  much  like  Argyra  had 
looked  when  he  last  saw  her  eighteen  years  before. 
Might  it  be  her  daughter?  Suddenly  the  figure  rose 
up,  walked  to  the  end  of  the  pew  and  down  the  aisle 
towards  him.  The  soldier  expected  her  to  come  into 
his  pew.  and  half  rose  as  she  drew  near  ;  she  passed 
by.  looking  straight  at  him,  but  did  not  speak.  It 
i^'cis  Aryyra!  He  sank  back  on  the  seat,  his  heart 
beating  with  violence  against  his  breast.  He  had 
about  composed  himself  when  to  his  infinite  surprise 
the  same  figure  passed  up  the  aisle  and  re-entered 
the  pew  before  the  altar.  The  soldier  should  have 
gotten  up  and  gone  towards  her  and  whispered  ''Ar- 
gyra," but  he  did  not.  and  just  then  the  lights  were 
lie.  the  pews  filled  up.  and  a  voting  minister  began 
the  services.  The  soldier  was  violently  agitated,  so 
much  so  that  he  was  compelled  to  go  outside  before 
the  close  of  the  sermon,  and  walk  up  and  down  the 
icy  porch  to  prevent  falling  down  from  dizziness. 


134  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


He  did  not  leave  the  porch,  and  he  knew  of  no  back 
door  to  the  Church,  consequently  when  Argyra  came 
out,  her  devotions  over,  he  would  accost  her  in  the 
vigor  of  his  renewed  composure.  The  services 
closed,  and  the  little  congregation,  for  the  most  part 
tenants  on  his  father's  property  or  villagers,  came 
out.  He  would  have  liked  to  have  hurried  away,  as 
many  recognized  him  and  stopped  to  greet  him,  and 
he  was  afraid  that  Argyra  might  slip  past  him.  He 
waited  until  the  last  person  emerged,  the  old  sexton, 
who  knew  him  after  he  gave  him  his  name.  "Did  I 
see  Argyra  McCooey  of  Primrose  House,  in  the 
kirk?"  "Argyra  McCooey,"  said  the  old  verger, 
speaking  the  name  with  surprise,  "she  has  not  been 
in  these  parts  for  near  to  fifteen  years,  and  after  her 
good  parents  died  all  her  family  moved  away,  and 
that  was  more  than  five  years  since."  ''That  is  re- 
markable," said  the  soldier,  "I  was  sure  that  I  saw 
her  in  the  Church."  "Young  man,"  said  the  sexton, 
after  looking  around  and  seeing  that  no  one  WAS 
present,  "there  are  ghosts  of  the  dead,  and  ghosts  o" 
the  living ;  the  ghosts  of  the  living  are  the  most  ier- 
rible  kind  of  ghosts.  They  come  back  to  haunt  us 
for  wrongs  of  our  doing,  while  ghosts  of  the  dead 
come  to  right  wrongs  of  their  own.  You  did  not  ree 
Argyra  McCooey,  for  she  is  many  thousands  of  miles 
from  here,  but  you  saw  her  ghost,  a  ghost  of  the 
living!"  The  soldier  was  trembling  like  a  leaf,  as 
he  thanked  the  sexton  and  walked  hurriedly  away. 
He  kept  on  walking  at  a  brisk  pace  for  he  was  ter- 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


135 


ribly  distressed  in  body  and  soul,  until  he  had  reached 
the  shore  of  Lochabar,  to  a  shaw  of  dark  firs  where 
lie  had  often  sat  with  Argyra  on  summer  afternoons 
in  the  long  ago  and  watched  the  gulls  skimming  over 
the  rippling  surfaces  of  the  "lake  of  the  horns."  The 
stars  were  out,  and  shone  with  silvery  effulgence  on 
the  expanses  of  icy  waters.  The  Highlander  approach- 
ed the  lake  side  to  an  eddy  whe'e  the  water,  cold  and 
unfriendly,  lapped  the  frozen  shore.  Reflected  on  the 
calm  surface  he  saw.  like  a  star,  not  his  own  image. 
but  the  face  of  Argyra  of  Primrose  House.  Quickly 
turning  away,  he  moved  with  rapid  steps  towards 
his  old  home  across  the  hill.  He  would  return  to 
America,  and.  in  more  seamy  adventures,  try  again 
to  forget  her. 


X.    Fire  for  the  Ghosts 

THE  Jack  o'  Lanthorn  still  appears  at  times  in  the 
deep  ravines  between  Cove  Mountain  and  Tusca- 
rora  Mountain,  in  the  dark  jungles  of  the  Augh- 
wick  Valley,  where  the  modern  has  not  routed,  the 
primitive  or  ghosts  and  goblins  of  the  long  ago.  Jack 
o'  Lanthorns  are  becoming  scarcer  for  some  reason, 
"farmers  draining  off  swamps,"  so  our  scientific 
friends  say,  but  the  old  people  ascribe  it  to  the  mater- 
ialism of  this  dollar-mad  age,  which  has  left  no  human 
hearts  for  a  belief  of  ghosts  to  dwell  in.  For,  after  all, 
to  believe  is  to  endow  realty  to  a  ghost,  and  with  no 
believers  there  can  be  no  hearts  to  harbor  them,  to  re- 
lease them,  and  see  them  at  the  witching  hour !  Sad, 
cold,  cruel  world  without  ghosts,  casting  aside  as  proof 
of  intellectual  progress  the  only  visible  grip  to  base  our 
oft-insistent  dream  of  Immortality. 

There  are  many  stories  told  of  the  early  doings  of 
the  Jack  o'  Lanthorns  or  Will  o'  the  Wisps — "fire  for 
the' ghosts,"  the  North  of  Ireland  settlers  called  them, 
believing  that  they  were  tiny  braziers  carried  about  by 
goblins  to  warm  the  graves  of  those  who  rested  in 
lonely  places  or  unhallowed  ground.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  Indians  considered  that  they  were  lanterns 
carried  by  ghostly  guides  to  lead  the  spirits  of  the  dead 
into  the  land  of  shades,  to  prevent  them  from  getting 
lost  in  the  long,  perilous  journey  thither,  otherwise  they 
would  wander  about  aimlessly  in  the  world  \vhich  lie? 

136 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  137 

between  the  living  and  the  dead  to  disturb  the  lonely 
places  by  their  melancholy  wailing. 

About  Cove  Mountain  and  Tuscarora  Mountain, 
and  in  the  depths  of  the  Aughwick  Valley,  the  tradition 
that  the  Will  o'  the  Wisp  was  "fire  for  the  ghosts"  has 
lingered  until  the  present  day.  Whenever  one  is  seen 
it  is  believed  to  be  some  kindly  spirit  bearing  a  little 
warmth  to  some  forgtten  corpse  lying  freezing  amid 
the  wilds  waiting  for  a  long-off  resurrection.  Often, 
in  the  old  days,  when  there  were  Indians  and  outlaws 
and  robbers  in  the  South  Mountains  and  on  Cove 
Mountain,  Tuscarora  Mountain,  Scrub  Ridge  and 
Sideling  Hill,  murders  were  more  common  than  now, 
and  the  bodies  of  many  a  victim  of  redman  or  robber 
were  recovered  by  following  the  unseen  bearer  of  this 
"fire  for  the  ghosts."  It  would  be  a  long  journey  most 
always,  generally  unfruitful,  as  the  sprite  traveled 
far  too  fast  for  human  strength,  and  the  seeker  would 
find  himself  at  dawn  waist-deep  in  some  creek,  or 
struggling  in  a  marsh  or  quagmire.  But  there  were 
cases  where  the  light  would  be  met  with  near  the 
end  of  its  journey,  and  after  hovering  over  a  mound, 
drop  down  and  rest  quivering,  radiating  a  warm, 
white  glow  over  the  dreary  sepulchre.  It  must  not  be 
approached  or  disturbed,  but  at  daybreak  it  would 
vanish.  Then  the  digging  could  commence.  If  mo- 
lested while  shining  no  bones  would  be  found. 

There  was  one  story  of  finding  a  grave  that  has  lin- 
gered on  from  generation  to  generation  because  of 
some  very  unusual  features.  It  was  a  year  or  two 


138 SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

after  the  return  of  Colonel  Bouquet  to  Carlisle  with 
his  convoy  of  prisoners  released  from  Indian  captivity, 
that  two  hunters  from  the  Cumberland  Valley,  Calvin 
McCreight  and  Aleck  McLanahan,  in  the  early  spring 
trailed  a  band  of  elks  across  Horse  Valley  (which 
meant  Elk  Valley,  as  the  early  settlers  imagined  the 
elks,  when  they  saw  diem  after  they  had  shed  their 
horns  to  be  wild  horses),  over  Kittochtinny  Mountain, 
near  the  Tri-Mountain  road  through  Path  Valley,  along 
the  Tuscarora  Path,  into  Aughwick  Valley,  and  up  to 
the  very  crest  of  mighty  Cove  Mountain,  near  to  where 
the  versatile  Leslie  Seylar,  of  McConnellsburg,  has 
his  wonderful  recreation  centre  and  observatory. 
There  it  became  very  dark  and  very  cold,  and  a  fresh 
snow  was  fast  obliterating  the  tracks  of  the  elks,  which 
were  moving  southward.  The  hunters  paused  to  build 
a  tire,  and  while  they  warmed  their  numb  fingers  the 
snow  abated,  and  they  regretted  their  decision  to  stop. 
They  were  about  to  "outen"  their  fire  by  putting  snow 
on  it,  when  they  noticed  a  ball  of  light  moving  among 
the  knotted,  dwarfish  chestnut  trees  which  grew  along 
the  brow  of  the  gigantic  mountain,  on  the  side  facing 
Aughwick  Valley.  The  elks  were  forgotten,  as  the 
kind-hearted  hunters  saw  a  chance  to  be  of  some  aid 
to  a  victim  of  a  violent  death,  and  perhaps  be  able  to 
transfer  his  remains  to  hallowed  ground.  When  they 
approached  the  Jack  o'  Lanthorn  it  started  to  move 
more  rapidly,  and  down  the  steep  face  of  the  mountain 
height.  There  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  follow,  and  it 
was  just  as  easy  to  follow  a  well-intentioned  sprite  as  a 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  139 

band  of  elks.  Down,  down  it  led  them,  over  rocks  and 
crevices,  among  logs  and  windfalls,  through  under- 
brush and  briars,  until  they  came  into  easier  traveling 
among  the  giant  white  oaks  which  grew  along  the 
lower  levels  of  the  mountain  and  stretched  out  towards 
Aughwick  Creek.  It  was  at  a  point  directly  across  the 
creek  from  about  where  the  State  Forest  Ranger's 
house  is  at  present,  that  the  ball  of  fire  stopped,  and 
seemed  to  hover  over  a  pile  of  jagged  rocks,  like  a 
mound.  Evidently  the  body  was  buried  with  care,  as 
the  stones  were  put  there  so  that  it  could  not  be  ex- 
humed by  wolves  or  other  wild  beasts.  The  light  rest- 
ed on  the  grave,  as  if  warming  it  by  its  bright  rays, 
while  the  two  hunters  stood  at  a  respectful  distance 
trying  to  conjure  out  whose  body  it  was.  After  view- 
ing it  for  a  time  they  made  their  way  across  the  valley, 
camping  for  the  night  near  the  gap  leading  into  Path 
Valley — the  gap  where,  a  century  later,  the  moun- 
taineers felled  the  trees  across  the  road  to  prevent  the 
ingress  of  the  Confederate  raiders.  The  hunt  was 
forgotten  ;  their  main  thought  was  to  get  nack  to  Car- 
lisle and  try  to  solve  the  mystery  of  the  lonely  grave. 
It  was  over  a  year  before  they  were  able  to  learn  any- 
thing very  definite  concerning  the  case,  and  then  it  was 
probably  too  late  to  run  down  the  murderer.  Widow 
McCaleb  kept  a  lodging  house  opposite  to  the 
gaol,  that  grim  old  fortress  which  sheltered  many  noted 
political  prisoners  and  criminals,  among  them  Freder- 
ick Stump  and  his  servant,  John  Ironcutter,  who  in 
l?(iS  murdered  White  Mingo  and  nine  other  Indians 


140 SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

in  cold  blood  on  the  Christunn,  near  Stinefordstown, 
only  to  be  released  by  a  mob  and  carried  about  the 
streets  of  the  town  as  heroes  and  not  like  murderers. 
It  was  during  this  stirring  episode  that  the  hunters 
McCreight  and  McLanahan  were  in  Carlisle  at  the  be- 
hest of  the  Sheriff  in  a  feeble  effort  to  preserve  law 
and  order.  They  happened  to  lodge  with  Widow 
McCaleb.  After  the  release  of  the  prisoners  and  the 
quieting  of  the  uproar  the  two  hunters  sat  with  the 
landlady  by  the  fire,  discussing  the  day's  regrettable 
events,  the  subject  gradually  turning  to  other  crimes. 
It  was  nearly  midnight,  and  the  yawns  of  Widow  Mc- 
Caleb's  pretty,  brown-haired  daughter  Mary,  as  she 
rubbed  her  china-blue  eyes,  hinted  that  it  was. time  to 
close  up  for  the  night.  "What  makes  you  yawn  like 
that?"  said  the  good  woman,  testily.  "Don't  you  have 
any  interest  in  all  the  important  things  tnese  gentlemen 
have  been  telling?"  "I  was  interested,"  protested  the 
round-faced,  overgrown  girl,  who  was  sprawling  on  a 
bench,  as  she  patted  the  knots  of  chestnut-colored  hair 
which  covered  her  ears.  "But  I  was  up  before  day- 
break and  scrubbing  floors  and  washing  windows  and 
doing  all  kinds  of  work,  and  even  if  you  talked  ghosts 
I'd  feel  tired  now."  "Do  you  believe  in  ghosts?"  said 
Widow  McCaleb,  addressing  the  hunters.  "We  surely 
do,"  answered  McLanahan,  and  he  proceeded  to  tell 
of  the  finding  of  the  grave  on  Cove  Mountain  through 
following  the  Jack  o'  Lanthorn.  The  woman  got  up 
from  her  chair  and  began  pacing  the  fl-jor  with  sup- 
pressed excitement.  "Mary,  shall  we  tell  the  gentle- 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  141 

men  what  -we  saw?"  "Of  course,  tell  them,"  said  the 
girl,  as  she  yawned  again,  and  stretched  her  long, 
shapely  arms  like  some  big  Pussy-cat.  ult  is  a  strange 
story,"  began  the  landlady,  "but  it  shows  that  murder 
will  out,  and  though  you  weren't  able  to  hold  those 
Dutch  blackguards  in  jail  today,  you  have  helped  to 
solve  an  unfathomed  mystery.  Five  years  ago — it  was 
the  year  that  my  husband  died  and  we  began  to  take 
lodgers— we  were  lucky  enough  to  accommodate  sev- 
eral officers  in  Colonel  Bouquet's  command,  soon  to 
leave  for  the  western  country.  Among  them  was  Cap- 
tain Denning,  of  the  Royal  Americans,  an  Irishman  by 
birth,  and  a.  close  personal  friend  to  Colcnel  Bouquet, 
and  for  a  time  his  adjutant.  The  officer  was  about 
thirty  years  of  age,  undersized  and  not  very  attractive- 
looking,  for  he  was  flat-faced  and  wore  spectacles.  He 
took  a  great  shine  to  Mary,  and  always  said,  half- 
joking,  that  when  he  came  back  a  general  from  the 
west  he  would  make  her  his  wife ;  she  was  only  fifteen, 
and  very  babyish  for  her  age,  so  we  thought  little  of 
his  remarks.  He  was  a  great  admirer  of  pretty  women, 
though  he  said  that  Mary,  even  in  her  rough  working 
clothes,  was  the  most  beautiful  girl  he  iiad  ever  seen. 
He  said  he  would  not  mind  being  killed  in  battle  except 
for  one  reason,  that  he  could  no  longer  see  the  pretty 
faces  of  the  girls  who  thronged  the  earth,  and  never  to 
see  Mary  again  would  be  the  greatest  deprivation  of 
all.  At  the  end  of  a  year  Colonel  Bouquet  came  back 
recommended  for  a  general's  commission,  but  Captain 
Denning  was  not  with  him.  The  report  given  out  was 


142  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


that  he  had  wandered  away  in  the  mountains  and  fallen 
over  a  precipice.  We  had  reason  to  think  differently, 
and  tried  to  explain  our  case,  but  failed.  It  happened 
this  way :  ( )ne  night  I  was  waked  suddenly.  Mary 
and  I  slept  in  the  same  room,  but  in  different  beds.  I 
was  always  afraid  to  sleep  alone  since  losing  my  hus- 
band, fearful  of  ghosts,  I  suppose,  and  thought  I  saw 
a  man  standng  by  Mary's  bed.  At  first  I  thought  it 
was  my  man  come  back,  as  he  doted  on  Mary,  and 
hated  to  leave  her,  but  as  he  kept  so  still  I  believed  it 
was  an  Indian  or  a  robber.  There  were  a  few  stars 
out.  so  I  could  see  a  little.  I  felt  for  my  blunderbuss 
and  was  getting  ready  to  fire  it,  when  the  light  became 
a  little  trifle  brighter,  and  I  saw  that  it  v.'-.s  neither  my 
husband  nor  an  Indian  or  a  robber,  but  an  officer  in 
uniform  of  the  Royal  Americans.  The  figure  contin- 
ued to  stand  by  my  girl's  bed,  looking  at  her,  until  she 
woke  with  a  start  and  screamed  out.  causing  the  appa- 
rition to  vanish.  I  jumped  out  of  bed  and  ran  to  her 
side.  She  was  in  a  cold  sweat.  I  said,  "Mary,  who 
was  that  standing  by  your  bed?"  "It  was  Captain 
Denning."  she  replied.  She  was  much  upset  al!  day, 
but  I  told  her  that  if  he  came  again  not  to  cry  out, 
that  if  I  was  awake  I  would  cover  him  with  my  pistol 
and  shoot  if  he  attempted  to  hurt  her,  but  to  try  and 
find  out  what  he  wanted.  That  night  I  was  again 
waked  by  the  feeling  that  some  one  was  in  the  room. 
It  was  the  Captain  again,  and  this  time  he  spoke  to 
Mary,  in  a  voice  just  above  a  whisper.  'My  dear  girl,' 
he  said,  'my  whole  life  was  centered  on  seeing  you 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  143 

again  and  making  good  my  promise  to  urge  you  to  be 
my  wife.  You  could  not  love  me  as  1  loved  you,  be- 
cause I  was  not  a  handsome  man,  but  my  great  love 
would  make  up  for  what  yours  lacked.  I  was  almost 
home — not  a  general,  but  cited  for  distinguished  con- 
duct on  the  field.  On  almost  the  last  night  of  the 
march  I  left  the  camp  at  the  foot  of  the  west  slope  of 
Cove  Mountain,  and  climbed  to  the  highest  point  where 
1  was  told  I  could  have  a  view  of  the  Cumberland 
Valley,  where  my  beloved  resided.  I  had  been  fol- 
lowed by  two  ruffians,  whom  1  had  court-martialed, 
and  just  where  the  highway  crosses  the  top  of  the 
mountain  1  was  struck  from  behind,  dragged  down 
the  hill  into  the  forest,  stripped  of  all  my  valua- 
bles, and  buried.  Mv  slayers  covered  my  grave  with 
stones,  not  through  fondness  for  me,  but  to  prevent 
wolves  from  carrying  bits  of  my  body  and  clothing1 
into  the  valleys  where  the  crime  might  be  detected. 

My  murderers  were ,'  and  mentioning  the  names 

of  two  well-known  young  men  of  loose  character,  who, 
before  enlisting,  lived  in  the  Great  Cove.  The  recital 
had  been  a  terrible  one,  and  Mary,  shivering  as  if  with 
ague,  screamed  out  again,  and  the  shade  of  Captain 
Denning  vanished.  The  next  day  we  saw  Colonel 
Bouquet  marching  into  town,  followed  by  his  troops 
and  the  motley  caravan  of  released  Indian  captives. 
Mary  and  I  were  on  the  front  steps  as  he  rode  by.  and 
we  waved  to  him.  and  he  saluted  us  in  return.  \\  hat 
a  prince  of  men  he  was — so  brave  and  capable,  yet  so 
friendly  and  democratic  with  it  all !  That  night  we  ex- 


144  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

pected  a  return  of  the  unquiet  spirit  of  Captain  Den- 
ning, so  I  gave  Mary  a  big  jorum  of  rum,  so  that  her 
nerves  would  bear  up  better  than  on  the  previous 
nights.  Again  at  midnight  we  were  waked  by  Captain 
Denning  standing  at  Mary's  bedside.  He  began  by 
saying  that  he  did  not  want  Colonel  Bouquet  to  think 
that  he  had  wandered  away  or  deserted,  but  that  he 
should  know  the  facts  and  the  names  of  his  assassins, 
for  us  to  go  and  tell  the  Colonel,  and  have  him  avenge 
his  murder,  that  his  grave  could  easily  be  found,  and 
skull  crushed  in  by  a  bullet  wound  from  behind  would 
prove  his  assertion.  He  was  sorry  to  have  troubled  us, 
he  had  now  appeared  too  many  times,  that  he  was  grow- 
ing faint.  He  stooped  clown  and  kissed  Mary  on  her 
full,  red  lips.  The  ghost  vanished,  and  I  found  that 
the  girl  had  fainted  dead  away.  I  managed  to  revive 
her,  and  she  fell  into  a  quiet  sleep.  The  next  morning 
we  repaired  to  General  Bouquet's  headquarters,  and, 
through  his  orderly,  who  knew  us,  we  secured  an  audi- 
ence. He  was  shocked  to  hear  our  recital,  and  by  the 
way  he  talked  promised  to  start  an  investigation.  That 
night  we  hardly  expected  the  ghost,  from  what  had 
been  said,  but  he  came  again.  This  time  his  form  was 
more  hazy,  and  his  voice  so  low  that  I  could  not  hear 
him  in  my  bed  across  the  room.  Mary  says  that  he 
told  her  that  Colonel  Bouquet  had  made  no  move  to 
investigate  his  death,  that  he  had  a  peculiar  gold  ring 
with  a  Hindu  inscription  on  it  that  the  Colonel  had 
noticed,  that  it  was  now  being  worn  by  a  very  esti- 
mable girl  beyond  Fort  Bedford,  with  whom  one  of 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  145 


the  murderers  was  in  love.  He  asked  that  she  tell  the 
Colonel  to  summon  the  girl,  and  ask  her  where  she  got 
the  ring,  and  it  would  prove  the  story  to  be  absolutely 
true.  He  kissed  Mary  again  and  embraced  her,  then 
faded  away.  The  next  morning  we  sought  another 
audience  with  General  Bouquet.  He  received  us 
pleasantly,  and  was  deeply  impressed  when  Mary  told 
the  story  of  the  ring.  He  promised  to  send  a  detach- 
ment of  Black  Boys  after  the  girl  at  once,  and  bring 
his  friend's  murderers  to  justice.  We  left  much  grati- 
field  at  the  result  of  our  interview.  That  evening  we 
saw  the  cavalrymen  clattering  out  of  town,  leading  an 
extra  horse  with  a  fine  side  saddle  on  which  the  mur- 
derer's sweetheart  was  to  be  brought  in.  While  they 
were  gone  Colonel  Bouquet  received  orders  commis- 
sioning him  a  Brigadier  General,  and  ordering  him  to 
take  command  in  Florida.  He  had  to  leave  hurriedly, 
though  one  of  the  sentries  at  his  headquarters  told  us 
that  the  day  before  he  departed  he  sent  his  orderly  out 
on  the  Cove  Mountain  Road,  to  try  and  hurry  back  the 
cavalrymen  and  their  hostage,  in  case  they  should  be 
traveling  slowly.  A  week  after  the  General's  depar- 
ture the  cavalry  troop  rod'e  into  town,  all  covered  with 
dust  <'.nd  grime,  and  with  them  a  dark  girl  in  Indian 
garb.  When  Colonel  Marmaduke,  General  Bouquet's 
successor,  heard  the  story,  he  ordered  the  girl  restored 
to  her  home  without  an  examination.  She  elected  to 
return  without  delay,  which  we  thought  peculiar,  and 
the  troopers  had  to  escort  her  away  back  to  Schellsburg, 
fifteen  miles  west  of  Fort  Bedford.  We  wondered  if 


146  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

we  would  receive  a  visit  from  Captain  Denning's  ghost 
to  express  his  dissatisfaction,  but  never  did  we  set  him 
again.  \Yhile  the  whole  affair  was  still  fresh  in  our 
minds  we  were  shocked  to  hear  of  the  sudden  death  of 
General  Bouquet  at  Pensacola,  immediately  after  his 
arrival  in  Florida.  That  settled  the  question  as  far  as 
punishing  the  murderers  of  Captain  Denning  was  con- 
cerned. Perhaps  the  General  greeted  the  Captain  in 
the  other  world,  and  planned  some  celestial  vengeance. 
Mary,  as  you  can  see,  looks  none  the  worse  for  her 
ghostly  visitations,  but  I  do  think  may  be  she  liked  the 
Captain  after  all,  as  she  always  looks  at  the  floor  when 
the  lads  gaze  at  her,  as  they  all  do,  in  admiration.  She 
used  to  be  so  bold  that  it  worried  me,  but  since  she  was 
kissed  and  embraced  by  a  visitor  from  the  land  of 
spirits  all  earthly  attentions  must  seem  tame  to  her." 
Just  at  this  point  of  the  narrative  Mary  again  strug- 
gled up  from  the  bench  on  which  she  had  been  sprawl- 
ing, and.  showing  too  much  of  her  pretty,  plump, 
brown-stockinged  legs.  Yawning  and  stretching  her 
smooth,  white  arms,  she  exclaimed,  "Mother,  for  good- 
ness sakes.  don't  praise  me  like  that,  else  I  will  grow 
conceited.  I  would  never  be  satisfied  with  a  ghost's 
kisses ;  they  blow  icy  breaths  on  me  like  come  out  of 
the  Caves  in  Doubling  Gap." 

"I  guess  the  poor  Captain  needed  that  fire  from  the 
Jack  o'  Lanthorn."  said  McCreight,  ''if  he  had  a  frozen 
breath  like  that." 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


147 


As  Widow  McCaleb  was  locking  the  door  for  the 
night,  she  could  hear  the  ribald  shouts  in  the  alleys, 
and  snatches  of  German  songs  ;  the  revellers  were  still 
celebrating  the  gaol  delivery  of  Stump  and  Ironcutter 
in  a  manner  never  to  be  forgotten  in  staid  old  Carlisle. 
It  seemed  to  the  good  woman  that  the  merriest  and 
freest  people  on  earth  were  either  murderers  or  friends 
of  murderers. 


XL    The  Proof  of  Ossian 

IT  IS  not  generally  known  that  General  Simon 
Fraser,  the  British  Commander  at  the  Battle  of 
Stillwater,  who  was  killed  by  the  Pennsylvania 
sharp-shooter  Tim  Murphy,  was  engaged  in  important 
literary  labors  at  the  time  of  his  untimely  death. 
These  labors  were  none  other  than  the  publication  of  a 
parallel  edition  of  the  works  of  Ossian,  translated  from 
ancient  manuscripts,  collected  from  entirely  different 
sources,  and  proving  beyond  a  shadow  of  a  doubt  the 
authenticity  of  James  MacPherson's  productions. 
These  had  been  in  the  possession  of  the  General's 
mother,  Mrs.  Catharine  Fraser,  of  Culbockie,  and  en- 
trusted to  her  son  for  editing  and  publication.  This 
was  to  be  done  not  to  vindicate  the  aspersions  cast 
upon  MacPherson,  in  whom  they  had  no  interest  and 
who  is  today  generally  regarded  as  the  composer  of 
the  poems,  but  to  prove  the  existence  of  ancient  Scot- 
tish poetry,  and  confound  the  English  critics.  The 
work  proved  so  engrossing  and  so  arduous  that  when 
the  General  was  ordered  to  America  he  brought  the 
manuscripts  with  him,  entrusted  in  the  particular  care 
of  one  of  his  orderlies,  Farquhar  McGilvray,  who  had 
been  a  retainer  in  his  mother's  family  for  a  number  of 
years. 

The  story  of  the  General's  taking  off  is  so  graphically 
lold  by  historians  that  it  will  hardly  bear  repetition 
here.  Suffice  that  the  late  Dr.  Joseph  Kalbfus,  the 
lamented  Pennsylvania  Game  Commissioner,  in  an 

148 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  149 

article  urging  the  conservation  of  game  to  promote  the 
use  of  the  rifle  by  the  mountain  boys,  states  that  "Tim 
Murphy's  shot  was  the  turning  point  of  the  Revolu- 
tion. After  that  all  was  favorable  to  the  cause  of  the 
Colonists."  It  was  at  a  time  when  the  tide  of  battle 
seemed  going  against  the  Americans  that  General  Mor- 
gan requested  Murphy,  who  was  considered  the  ablest 
long-distance  shot  in  his  forces,  to  remove  General 
Fraser.  At  three  hundred  yards  the  redoubtable  Tim 
made  short  work  of  the  gallant  Britisher,  and  killed 
one  of  his  orderlies  for  good  measure.  This  was  on 
October  7,  1777,  and  the  surviving  orderly,  McGilvray, 
collected  the  manuscripts  into  his  personal  possession, 
while  the  General's  body  lay  in  an  adjoining  room  in 
his  headquarters,  hoping  to  take  the  precious  papers 
back  to  Scotland  after  the  war. 

The  story  of  Tim  Murphy  is  confusing  to  an  his- 
torian. r>enson  J.  Lossing,  in  his  marvellous  "Field 
Book  of  the  Revolution,"  relates  that,  after  the  Revo- 
lution, Murphy  resided  in  the  Mohawk  Valley.  New 
York,  marrying  a  girl  from  that  neighborhood.  In 
Pennsylvania  history  it  is  stated  that,  after  the  Revo- 
lution, Murphy  resided  in  the  West  Branch  Valley, 
below  the  present  town  of  Williamsport,  at  what  is 
now  Sylvan  Dell.  Could  there  have  been  two  Tim 
Murphys?  The  Keystone  State,  unless  most  excellent 
proofs  are  adduced,  will  never  concede  that  her  Tim 
Murphy  became  a  New  Yorker. 

The  Tim  of  so  many  unique  records  was  champion 
of  champions.  For  instance,  on  September  13,  1775, 


150  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

his  friends  joined  him  in  his  celebrating  the  killing  and 
scalping  of  his  twenty-third  Indian.  As  Indian  scalps 
were  paid  for  at  the  rate  of  $134  apiece.  Murphy  must 
have  enjoyed  some  little  prosperity  as  a  man-hunter. 
At  one  time  in  his  life  he  estimated  that  he  had  killed 
four  thousand  deer ;  only  a  few  hunters  in  the  whole 
United  States  can  equal  that  record.  With  twenty- 
three  Indians,  four  thousand  deer  and  General  Fraser 
to  his  credit.  Murphy  was  able  to  take  pride  in  what 
hunters  today  call  a  "mixed  bag"  second  to  none.  Tim 
Murphy's  rifle,  the  stock  "nicked"  to  bits  by  the  marks 
of  its  frequent  victims,  would  be  a  relic  fit  for  a  great 
private  collection  or  museum.  Robert  Couvenhoven's 
rifle,  still  in  existence,  has  thirteen  nicks,  which  means 
it  counted  for  the  lives  of  that  number  of  redskins,  and 
Couvenhoven  and  Murphy  were  close  friends. 

At  the  close  of  the  war  Farquhar  McGilvray  did 
not  return  to  Scotland,  but  turned  up  as  a  squatter 
settler  in  the  South  Mountains,  on  Conewago  Creek, 
in  I'uchanan  Valley.  Probably  he  had  been  captured 
and  exchanged,  or  allowed  to  escape,  but  why  did 
lie  elect  to  remain  in  America?  At  any  rate,  he  ap- 
peared in  Pennsylvania,  bringing  with  him  the  pre- 
cious "proofs  of  Ossian."  He  had  a  clearly  denned 
idea  of  their  value,  and  possibly  he  sought  the  quiet 
of  the  South  Mountains  to  himself  take  up  the  task 
of  translating  and  annotating  the  manuscripts  where 
his  illustrious  master  had  left  off.  He  mav  have 
preferred  to  do  this  than  to  turn  them  over  to  out- 
siders in  Scotland,  who  would  rob  the  General's 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  151 

memory  of  the  credit,  or  make  a  "botch"  of  the 
important  task.  It  is  strange,  however,  that  McGil- 
vrav  did  not  communicate  with  Macpherson  or  his 
friends,  who  might  have  been  willing  to  bring  out  the 
translation  at  no  expense  to  the  old  soldier.  It  may 
have  been  the  hardships  of  the  frontier,  and  the  irre- 
sponsibility (if  the  squatter's  life  that  caused  him  to 
dawdle  with  his  work.  He  seemed  to  do  little  more 
with  the  documents,  if  that  was  his  reason  for  com- 
ing to  1'uchanan  Valley,  than  to  read  and  re-read 
them  ;  they  were  always  lying  on  his  desk  during  the 
period  when  bad  weather  kept  him  indoors.  Hut  for 
all  that  the  few  neighbors  forgot  that  McGilvray  was  a 
liritish  veteran  of  the  war  or  was  the  possessor  of 
one  of  the  most  valuable  manuscripts  in  the  world, 
lie  seemed  to  spend  most  of  his  time  clearing  a  small 
farm,  and  later  tore  down  his  log  cabin  after  he  had 
erected  a  more  substantial  structure,  a  square  stone 
h<,u.-c  with  old-fashioned  hooded  chimneys,  under 
which  the  owls  harbored  in  changeable  weather. 
Some  people  thought  that  he  intended  to  get  married, 
as  the  house  was  much  too  large  for  a  lone  squatter, 
but  no  wife  appeared.  That  he  was  industrious  is 
proved  by  this  stone  house,  which  is  still  standing; 
practically  all  of  the  work  of  which  he  did  himself. 
Yet  as  for  literarv  activities  he  made  no  stir.  What 
was  his  motive  for  keeping  the  manuscript  in  the 
wilds  of  South  Mountains?  Was  he  negotiating  to 
sell  it,  or  would  some  one  come  after  it?  It  is  a 


152 


great  mystification  to  those  who  are  interested,  and 
as  yet  no  solution  can  be  even  guessed  at ! 

As  years  passed  McGilvray  found  the  responsibili- 
ties of  the  house  too  great,  and  entered  into  negotia- 
tions with  a  couple  then  in  the  prime  of  life,  Adam 
Ludwig  and  wife,  that  if  they  would  care  for  him  as 
long  as  he  lived  he  would  turn  the  house  and  land 
over  to  them  at  his  death.  Adam  Ludwig  was  a 
bright,  active  man,  and  younger  brother  of  Molly 
Ludwig,  better  known  as  "Molly  Pitcher,"  the  heroine 
of  the  Battle  of  Monmouth,  and  the  widow  of  the 
Revolutionary  soldiers,  Hays  and  McCauley. 

Relieved  of  his  chief  responsibilities,  the  Scotch- 
man began  to  think  more  and  more  of  his  old  home 
beyond  the  seas.  He  was  attached  to  his  Pennsylva- 
nia mountains  and  valleys,  yet  he  desired,  as  he  ex- 
pressed it,  ''to  take  one  more  look  at  hrs  own  High- 
lands." After  deliberating  for  many  months,  he 
finally  decided  to  make  the  trip,  and  completed  all 
the  legal  arrangements  so  that  if  he  was  lost  at  sea 
or  died  abroad  the  property  wrould  pass  to  the  care- 
takers. He  would  be  gone  about  two  years,  no  more. 

When  he  left  he  entrusted  the  manuscripts,  which 
he  kept  in  an  iron  box,  made  for  the  purpose  by  a 
blacksmith  at  Chambersburg,  to  Ludwig,  enjoining 
him  to  save  them  above  all  other  chattels  if  the  house 
caught  on  fire. 

If  McGilvray  was  waiting  for  someone  to  come 
for  the  papers  it  was  strange  that  he  would  go  off  on 
a  two  year's  trip,  leaving  them  behind,  and  with  no 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  153 

orders  to  his  agent,  except  to  hold  on  to  them,  and 
carry  the  chest  out  first  of  all  the  household  goods  in 
case  of  fire. 

Adam  Ludwig,  not  hearing  from  the  Scotchman  in 
nearly  two  years,  hegan  to  feel  that  perhaps  he  had 
been  shipwrecked  or  died.  Just  as  this  period  was 
expiring  a  letter  came  from  him,  stating  that  he  was 
very  comfortably  situated  among  relatives  and  would 
probably  remain  away  for  three  years  more,  also 
the  interesting  information  that  he  was  to  be  married 
to  an  old-time  sweetheart. 

Soon  after  this  the  trail  across  the  mountains,  near 
to  McGilvray's  house,  was  opened  as  a  public  road 
to  Arendtsville,  and  was  much  frequented  by  travel- 
ers. Many  of  these  sought  accommodations  at  the 
stone  mansion,  but  the  Ludwigs  were  loath  to  adver- 
tise the  place  as  an  inn  without  the  knowledge  and 
consent  of  the  owner.  Travel  became  so  heavy  that 
Ludwig  wrote  to  McGilvray  and  asked  him  if  he 
might  rent  the  house  to  use  it  as  a  tavern,  and  offer- 
ing him  a  fixed  rental  per  year  for  three  years. 
There  was  a  prompt  reply  that  he  would  be  glad  to 
let  the  house  for  the  purpose  indicated,  the  amount 
of  rental  was  satisfactory,  but  that  he  would  prefer 
to  have  it  paid  in  one  lump  sum  on  his  return. 

At  the  end  of  the  three  years  McGilvray  wrote  that 
if  Ludwig  was  willing  he  might  continue  on  the  same 
terms  for  three  years  more,  and  to  pay  the  taxes 
which  could  be  deducted  from  the  rental. 

The  tavern  was  a  favorite  resort  for  travelers,  and 


154  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


the  rental  was  renewed  every  three  years,  until  Adam 
Ludwig,  who  became  knowrn  as  "Old  Adam,''  died, 
and  was  succeeded  by  his  son,  "Young  Adam." 
McGilvray  also  must  have  died  about  this  time,  for 
no  other  letters  came  from  him,  and  Young  Adam 
continued  to  pay  the  taxes. 

In  the  house-cleaning  incidental  to  the  new  land- 
lord's accession  the  iron  box,  which  had  been  kept 
for  years  under  "Old  Adam's"  long-legged  bed  was 
taken  upstairs  to  the  garret.  There  under  the  dark, 
cobwebby  eaves  it  continued  to  rest  for  many  a  year, 
becoming  steadilv  rustier  and  dingier,  a  forbidden- 
looking  box  of  mystery.  "Young  Adam"  had  often 
heard  his  father  and  mother  talk  of  the  box,  and  in 
a  vague  way  knew  that  it  contained  the  manuscript 
of  some  ancient  poems  relating  to  the  early  history 
of  Scotland  in  some  obsolete  language,  but  he  never 
tried  to  delve  into  the  subject  any  deeper. 

Years  passed,  and  "Young  Adam"  in  turn  became 
"Old  Adam,"  and  by  virtue  of  paying  taxes  and 
possession  for  upwards  of  twenty-one  years,  be- 
came the  actual  possessor  of  the  stone  house  and  its 
surrounding  lands.  He  was  an  honest  man,  and 
openly  stated  that  if  McGilvray  or  his  rightful  heirs 
returned  he  would  turn  the  house  and  farm  over  with- 
out a  protest,  but  he  did  not  feel  like  hunting  for 
people  who  showed  such  a  lack  of  interest  in  a  prop- 
erty. 

For-  many  years  Ludwig's  wife  and  daughters  at- 
tended to  the  wants  of  the  travelers,  but  the  girls 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  155 


finally  married  and  went  away,  leaving  too  great  a 
burden  on  the  middle-aged  landlady. 

One  of  the  sons,  Adam  :>d,  had  become  a  land- 
lord in  Mercersburg  and  married  there.  His  wife 
had  a  sister  who  said  that  she  was  willing  to  work 
out  for  a  time  and  agreed  to  go  to  the  South  Moun- 
tains. This  volunteer,  named  Linda  Hatcher,  was  a 
girl  of  more  than  ordinary  good  looks.  It  was  re- 
ported that  she  was  in  love  with  Johnny  Kilgore,  the 
great  hunter,  who  sometimes  came  to  the  tavern  with 
his  pack  of  deer  hounds.  Linda  had  met  him  while 
en  a  visit  there,  and  it  was  not  long  after  that  she 
expressed  a  desire  to  "help  out"  at  the  remote  spot 
where  few  town  girls,  even  at  that  early  day,  would 
have  cared  to  linger  long  without  such  an  ulterior 
purpose. 

Adam  Ludwig.  ord.  in  Mercersburg,  became  ac- 
quainted with  a  young  professor  at  the  college,  a  man 
of  about  the  same  age,  twenty-three,  and  in  describ- 
ing his  boyhood  home  in  the  mountains  told  of  the 
mysterious  old  Revolutionary  soldier  and  the  box 
containing  the  manuscripts  of  early  Scottish  poetry. 

"\\ere  they  the  Poems  of  Ossian."  said  the  pro- 
fessor, who  was  an  omniverous  reader  and  student. 
"Yes.  sir.  that's  the  name,  I'm  sure."  replied  the 
young  boniface. 

The  educator  was  tremendously  impressed,  and  felt 
that  he  was  on  the  threshold  of  the  most  important 
literary  discovery  of  the  century.  One  matter  and 
another  prevented  the  weekly-planned,  but  inevitably 


156  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

postponed  "trip"  to  Buchanan  Valley  until  a  year  had 
slipped  away  imperceptably.  Finally  a  date  was  set 
for  the  last  Sunday  in  August,  about  the  year  1842, 
the  professor  to  furnish  the  horses,  and  the  young 
boniface  to  attend  to  the  accommodation.  They  would 
leave  at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  and  arrive"  at 
their  destination  in  time  for  Adam  3rd  to  introduce 
his  friend,  arrange  for  him  to  stay,  then,  after  sup- 
per he  would  return  and,  by  urging  his  horse,  be 
back  in  time  to  open  his  hotel  on  Monday  morning. 
In  those  times  "days  off"  and  vacation  were  seldom 
taken,  and  all  that  the  average  man  could  see  was  an 
endless  vista  of  work. 

It  was  a  crisp,  cool  morning  as  the  two  young  trav- 
elers started  away  on  their  prancing  steeds,  the  hoofs 
rattling  on  the  cobblestones  of  the  inn-yard.  Tho 
Robins  had  begun  caroling  gayly  in  the  tops  of  the  old 
maple  trees  along  the  street,  the  Martins  weie  singing 
their  sweetest  about  their  ornate  brightly  painted 
home  on  a  tall  pole  across  from  the  Seminary. 
Everything  was  bright  and  crisp,  and  the  dew  sparkled 
on  the  grass  catching  the  first  rays  of  the  sun  as  it 
rose  from  behind  the  South  Mountains  as  they  rode 
out  of  town  into  the  wide  country.  The  young  men 
were  well  mounted,  consequently  arrived  at  the  old 
stone  house  on  the  Conewago  before  the  deepening 
colors  of  mountains  and  pines  told  of  the  approach 
of  the  golden  hour  and  sunset.  The  parents  of  Adam 
3rd,  with  several  of  their  grandchildren  and  their 
helper,  Linda  Hatcher,  were  sitting  on  the  benches 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  157 

which  flanked  either  side  of  the  front  door,  enjoying 
the  cool  stillness  of  the  afternoon  atmosphere,  when 
the  two  horsemen  came  into  view  beyond  the  ford. 
There  was  a  giant  buttonwood  tree  close  to  the  creek, 
which  threw  its  capacious  branches  and  shade  so  far 
that  it  seemed  to  be  sheltering  the  old  tavern  under 
its  outstretched  arms.  Up  in  the  branches  a  hand- 
some cock  Passenger  Pigeon  was  chirping  to  -iis 
Quaker  colored  mate,  and  this  and  the  rippling  of 
the  Conewago  had  put  the  sitters  on  the  tavern  poidi 
almost  into  a  trance  state,  in  a  calm  accord  with  quiet 
serenity  of  the  long  Sunday  golden  hour.  They 
jumped  up  quickly  when  they  saw  the  approaching; 
travelers,  and  the  wild  pigeons,  frightened  by  the 
clatter  of  the  horses'  hoofs  on  the  loose  stones  by 
the  ford,  flew  away  into  the  dense  woods  on  the  slope 
of  Piney  Mountain.  Even  the  dogs  were  aroused, 
and  ran  forward  barking  vociferously.  It  did  not 
take  Adam  3d's  parents  long  to  recognize  him,  and 
while  they  were  exchanging  greetings,  the  young  pro- 
fessor from  the  College  at  Mercersburg  was  standing 
nervously  patting  his  horse's  frothy  chest  and  staring 
at  the  pretty  Linda  Hatcher,  who  stood  on  the  hotel 
porch,  her  hands  on  her  hips.  She,  from  under  her 
lashes,  looked  at  him,  but  not  in  the  same  terms  of 
admiration.  He  was  a  curious  looking  youth  even 
for  that  day.  A  great  brown  beard  covered  his 
face,  and  hung  down  below  his  waist,  his  soft  grey 
hat  was  pulled  down  low  and  the  color  of  his  eyes 
were  concealed  by  heavy  spectacles.  "I  wonder  what 


158  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

he  locks  like  back  of  that  disguise,"  thought  the  girl. 
''Perhaps  that  is  why  he  acts  so  bold." 

The  unattractive  man  always  looks  hard  at  lovely 
specimens  of  the  opposite  sex,  whereas  his  attractive 
brother  is  supremely  indifferent  because  all  the  girls 
are  looking  at  him.  After  all  were  introduced  the 
young  men  accompanied  the  elder  Ludwig  to  the 
stable  and  put  away  their  horses.  Adam  -3d  explained 
how  his  friend,  a  great  scholar,  would  like  to  go  over 
the  contents  of  the  iron  box  and  it  was  arranged 
to  have  it  placed  in  his  room  the  following  morning. 
In  the  living  room  before  supper,  during  supper,  and 
all  evening  long  the  young  savant  could  not  keep  his 
eyes  off  pretty  Linda  Hatcher.  He  had  never  seen 
her  equal  before,  not  even  in  Mercersburg,  which 
was  famous  for  its  beautiful  girls.  He  was  surprised 
when  he  heard  that  she  had  until  lately  lived  in  that 
town ;  evidently  there  were  many  things  that  his 
studious  life  compelled  him  to  miss.  Linda  was  of 
the  semi-blonde  type,  very  slim,  with  well  chiseled 
features,  blue  eyes  and  very  red  lips,  she  was  above 
the  medium  height,  with  quick,  nervous  movements 
and  knew  her  beauty  enough  to  be  self-conscious 
about  it.  She  felt  that  it  entitled  her  to  choose 
her  admirers,  and  she  detested  homely  men.  Per- 
haps the  professor  was  not  bad  looking  beneath  his 
shock  of  hair,  his  big  spectacles  and  shaggy  beard, 
but  he  had  no  business  to  wear  such  disguises  if  he 
would  look  at  a  girl  of  her  pretensions.  She  evidently 
forgot  that  Johnny  Kilgore,  the  great  hunter,  also 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  159 


wore  his  black  hair  very  long  and  had  a  beard  of 
ample  dimensions,  but  his  eyes  were  uncovered  by 
glasses  and  were  piercingly  and  vividly  black,  besides, 
all  the  girls  who  saw  him  called  him  a  handsome  man, 
and  that  was  everything.  \\  ould  she  ever  be  lucky 
enough  for  Johnny  Kilgore  to  fancy  her,  she  thought. 
Linda  resented  the  professor's  silent  attentions, 
and  disliked  to  see  those  spectacled  eyes  following 
her  wherever  she  went.  Sse  had  to  show  him  to 
his  room,  a  task  she  hated,  and  while  she  handed  him 
the  key  he  kept  eyeing-  her  all  the  while,  until  she 
felt  so  uncomfortable  that  she  used  ''cuss  words''  to 
herself  as  she  ran  along  the  hall  and  down  the  stairs. 
In  the  morning  Adam  Ludwig  recollected  that  he 
had  no  key  to  the  massive  lock  which  held  the  iron 
box  inviolate.  lie  did  not  like  to  break  it,  as  it  had 
been  closed  by  the  old  Scotchman,  whose  heirs  might 
send  for  it  some  time.  At  the  same  time  he  had 
never  been  told  not  to  open  it.  If  the  professor 
did  not  object  he  would  yoke  up  his  team  of  oxen 
and  take  it  to  the  blacksmith  down  the  creek,  and 
have  it  back  before  dinner  time.  The  professor 
acquiesced  and  meanwhile  he  would  take  a  stroll  up 
the  mountain,  across  the  ford,  and  examine  the  ilora 
and  avi-fauna  of  the  neighborhood.  He  wanted  a 
Passenger  Pigeon's  nest,  perhaps  the  pair  that  had 
rli>wn  off  the  big  sycamore  as  they  crossed  the  ford 
the  day  before  had  been  breeding,  and  their  nest 
might  be  found  in  one  of  the  ancient  beeches  or  hem- 
locks alon"  the  "first  bench"  of  Pinev  Mountain. 


160  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

Then  there  was  the  Blue  Spring  to  visit,  so  beautifully 
situated  among  wide-spreading  chestnut  trees.  Lud- 
wig  took  the  box  to  the  blacksmith  and  had  a  key  fit- 
ted, returned  and  had  the  musty  pile  of  parchments 
and  vellums  on  the  table  in  the  professor's  room  by 
nine  o'clock.  The  bed  as  yet  had  not  been  made  up, 
and  the  contents  of  the  educator's  saddle  bags,  ap- 
parel, boots,  note  books,  specimen  cases  and  the  like 
were  distributed  on  all  the  tables  and  chairs. 

While  the  professor  was  botanizing  and  looking 
for  a  pigeon  nest  the  sky  grew  overcast  and  a  heavy 
and  cold  wind  commenced  blowing.  He  was  a  long 
ways  up  the  mountain  side,  but  hurried  down  over 
the  rocks,  as  the  fierce  wind  was  shaking  down  leaves 
from  the  trees  like  on  a  day  in  Autumn,  and  the 
frigid  gusts  betokened  a  severe  thunder  storm.  At 
the  tavern  the  gale  beat  against  the  old  house  unceas- 
ingly, and  the  professor's  window  being  open,  the 
wind  swept  through  with  fury,  blowing  all  the  papers 
and  vellums  of  the  Proofs  of  Ossian  down  on  the 
floor.  The  room  was  in  fearful  state,  with  the  rain 
pelting  in  when  Linda  entered  to  "make  the  bed." 
"What  a  fool  man,"  she  said  to  herself.  "Why  can't 
he  be  orderly  and  neat?  He  thinks  no  one.  cares 
since  he  is  disguised."  She  slammed  the  window 
angrily,  and  began  mopping  up  the  water  which  had 
run  all  over  the  wooden  floor  in  big  pools.  Then 
she  commenced  picking  up  the  dirty  papers  and  sheep- 
skins until  her  arms  were  filled  with  them.  "Where 
could  that  crazy  man  have  kept  all  this  trash;  there's 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  161 

no  room  for  it  in  his  saddlebags  or  anywhere." 
There  was  a  ten-plate  stove  in  the  room,  with  the 
door  standing  wide  open.  "I'll  store  the  things  in 
there,  and  when  I  see  him  after  he  gets  back  I'll  tell 
him  it's  as  good  a  place  as  any." 

She  made  up  the  room  hastily  and  carelessly,  and 
rushed  out,  glad  to  get  away  from  such  hateful  sur- 
roundings. Downstairs  she  .heard  Ludwig  remark 
that  he  had  put  "the  valuable  papers  in  the  professor's 
room,"  but  she  made  no  comment. 

It  was  not  long  after  that  Lud wig's  wife,  shudder- 
ing from  the  sudden  change  in  the  weather,  told  one 
of  her  granddaughters,  "Little  Molly,"  named  for 
her  illustrious  relation,  to  go  upstairs  and  light  a  fire 
in  the  guest's  room.  The  child  obeyed,  and  when  she 
got  there  struck  a  flint,  and  soon  had  the  mass  of 
parchments  blazing  away  furiously.  She  waited 
until  all  was  burning  then  slammed  the  stove  door 
and. started  down  the  hall.  At  the  head  of  the  stairs 
she  met  Linda  Hatcher  coming  up  with  a  jug  of 
water.  "Where  are  you  coming  from  Molly,"  she 
inquired,  seeing  the  child  carrying  the  flint  box. 
"Grandmother  told  me  to  light  a  tire  in  the  profes- 
sor's stove,  and  I  made  a  good  one."  Linda  Hatcher 
did  not  know  whether  to  laugh  or  cry  ;  she  did  neither, 
but  gripping  the'  jug  firmly  ran  towards  the  profes- 
sor's apartment.  "What  have  I  done  "  screamed 
Little  Molly,  running  after  her.  "You  have  set  fire 
to  all  those  valuable  papers  that  Grandfather  took 
out  of  the  old  iron  box  this  morning."  "Then  I'm 


162  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


in  for  a  licking  sure,"  shrieked  the  child.  "No,  you're 
not,"  said  Linda,  almost  out  of  breath.  "If  anyone's 
to  be  licked  it's  me.  It  was  my  fault." 

Reaching  the  room,  she  put  her  hand  under  her 
apron,  and  flung  open  the  swinging  door  of  the  stove. 
A  glance  told  her  it  was  too  late ;  only  a  few  corners 
remained  uncharred  of  the  priceless  proofs  of  Ossian. 
She  was  on  her  knees  before  the  stove,  trying  to  sort 
out  and  piece  together  what  few  remnants  that  sur- 
vived when,  unheard  by  her,  the  professor  entered 
the  room.  The  girl  did  not  speak,  but  went  on  with 
her  work  as  if  no  one  was  present.  The  professor 
broke  the  silence.  "Can  I  help  you  clean  out  the 
stove,  or  do  anything,"  he  queried.  She  did  not 
answer,  but  swung  the  stove  door  shut  with  a  bang, 
and  sprang  to  her  feet.  As  she  reached  the  door  she 
stopped,  saying.  ''I've  done  a  very  foolish  thing.  I 
put  your  old  manuscripts  in  the  stove  for  safe  keep- 
ing; Mrs.  Ludwig  had  a  fire  started  to  take  the  chill 
out  of  tiie  room  ;  1  only  heard  of  it  too  late ;  I  came 
running;  there's  nothing  left  but  the  ashes."  She 
slammed  the  door  and  her  defiant  manner  vanished. 

She  was  crying  as  she  went  down  the  hall,  for  she 
knew  that  it  was  her  pride  that  had  made  possible 
this  lamentable  conflagration.  As  for  the  professor, 
he  sat  speechless  before  the  smoking  fragments. 
"The  literary  sensation  of  the  century,"  which  he 
had  hoped  to  sponsor,  would  never  take  place !  After 
a  time  he  recovered  himself  and  sorted  the  ashes  and 
charred  papers  with  careful  touch;  all  was  destroye-1 


3OUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


163 


beyond  recall,  yet  the  Gaelic  characters  on  the  conr-r<-- 
'of  the  few  pieces  of  heavy  parchment  which  were  left 
told  him  beyond  words  that  the  mass  of  manuscript 
had  been  the  long-missing  proof  of  Ossian.  It  seem- 
ed that  the  fates  had  conspired  to  prevent  MacPher- 
son's  memory  from  receiving  an  eleventh  hour  vindi- 
cation. 


# 


XII.    A  Ghost  Flower 

IN  Fulton  County,  in  the  Township  of  Ayr,  there 
is  a  high  grazing  land  which  overtops  many 
mountains  and  commands  a  superb  viewr  in  every 
direction ;  there  is  no  underbrush  among  the  few 
oaks  and  chestnuts  which  remain,  and  there  was  none 
in  Colonial  days,  as  the  bison  had  made  it  a  favorite 
resting  place,  cleaning  it  as  effectually  as  if  a  force 
of  men  with  grubbing  hoes  and  brush  hooks  had  been 
over  it.  It  was  known  to  the  earliest  white  settlers 
as  "the  Park,"  and  the  "Pasture,"  but  between  the 
time  that  the  buffaloes  were  driven  off  and  the  white 
pioneers  came  in  it  was  used  as  a  tarrying  ground 
for  beleagured  Indians,  moving  from  place  to  place, 
in  vain  trying  to  rest  quietly  away  from  their  im- 
placable pale  faced  foes.  From  this  high,  wind-swept 
elevation  they  could  note  the  light  of  camp-fires  or 
cabins  in  the  far  distant  coves  and  get  a  general  idea 
of  how  to  best  protect  themselves.  Gradually  they 
came  less  frequently  until  the  last  party,  possibly 
Senecas,  driven  south,  and  then  north  again  by  their 
white  enemies,  and  unfriendly  Indians  of  other 
tribes,  came  to  lay  away,  according  to  their  tribal 
custom,  the  daughter  of  the  chief  warrior  of  the  band. 
The  girl  was  of  extreme  beauty,  and  but  eighteen 
years  of  age.  when  overcome  by  a  sudden  cold,  pneu- 
monia developed  and  she  passed  away  after  a  day  of 
intense  suffering.  It  would  have  pleased  the  be- 
reaved parents  mightily  if  they  could  have  brought 

164 


165 


the  body  of  their  loved  one  back  to  the  shaded,  peace- 
ful burying  ground  overlooking  their  old  home  on 
the  Ohe-yu,  or  The  Beautiful  River,  which  the  white 
men  arbitrarily  re-named  "The  Allegheny,"  near  the 
present  town  of  Roulette,  in  Potter  County,  and 
where  her  brothers  and  sisters  rested,  for  she  was 
the  last  of  the  family,  but  it  was  hard  enough  to 
transport  themselves  and  mid  enough  food  to  live 
on,  without  taking  a  corpse  as  part  of  their  caravan. 
Besides,  it  was  May,  warm  weather  was  coming  on ; 
it  would  not  do  to  transport  a  body  at  that  period, 
which  the  Senecas  called  the  Moon  of  the  White  Blos- 
soms. Nature  was  resplendent  in  her  white  dress  of 
purity,  and  if  the  dead  girl  at  this  time  could  be  liken- 
ed to  any  blossom,  she  might  be  called  a  ghost  flower. 
In  order  to  protect  the  body  from  wolves,  yet  give 
it  a  view  of  the  beauties  of  the  surrounding  region, 
for  the  Senecas  ascribed  a  certain  sentience  to  the 
body  until  it  had  crumbled  to  bits  with  the  wind,  a 
high  platform  of  hickory  poles  was  constructed,  on 
which  sat  the  fair  corpse  upright  on  a  chair,  as  if 
in  life.  Ten  feet  below  the  wolves  might  leap  and 
snarl  to  their  heart's  content,  and  howl  and  yowl 
at  their  discomfiture,  and  chase  their  shadows  on  the 
lawn,  but  they  could  not  touch  the  body  sitting  up 
there  so  serenely,  with  the  moonlight  shining  full  in 
her  face!  The  panther  could  climb  the  poles,  or 
bring  the  whole  structure  down  by  his  weight,  but 
this  giant  cat  never  would  touch  dead  flesh,  though 
there  are  stories  of  extant  panthers  poisoned  by  eat- 


166  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

ing  carcarsses  of  horses  and  steers  saturated  with 
strychnine.  At  any  event,  they  did  not  touch  dead 
flesh  in  Indian  times,  maybe  later  on  when  famished 
for  food  they  may  have  been  pushed  to  this  extremity 
and  perished  for  their  hardihood.  There  is  a  story 
told  by  the  very  old  people  in  Bedford  County  of  how 
a  panther  visited  a  back  pasture  near  Scrub  Ridge 
and  killed  a  two-year-old  colt.  The  monster  sucked 
the  blood  and  went  away,  leaving  its  great  tracks  in 
the  soft  ground  in  the  field.  The  carcass  was  dosed 
with  arsenic  and  the  panther,  returning  the  next  night, 
on  sampling  the  meat,  fell  dead  not  many  feet  from 
the  remains  of  his  victim.  \Yhen  the  settlers  visited 
the  spot  the  next  morning  they  were  appalled  by  the 
size  of  the  monster  they  had  slain,  and  declared  that 
lying  there,  even  in  death,  with  claws  clutched  con- 
vulsively, it  looked  every  inch  a  king.  As  the  Indian 
girl  who  died  was  the  last  of  her  family,  and  was 
so  amiable  as  well  as  beautiful  in  life,  her  bereaved 
parents  wished  to  make  their  final  offering  to  her 
in  keeping  with  their  great  love.  They  dressed  her 
in  the  best  of  her  meagre  supply  of  clothing,  wound 
her  with  strings  of  many  colored  beads,  painted  her 
face  white,  with  red  cheeks  and  red  lips,  propped 
open  the  eyes  and  painted  the  most  graceful  brows, 
arranged  her  hair  most  tastefully,  and  decked  it  out 
with  blossoms  of  the  hawthorne,  while  her  beaded 
raiment  was  half  buried  behind  garlands  of  spring 
flowers,  ground  pine  and  pipsissewa.  Her  couch 
or  settee  was  completely  twined  with  evergreen 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  167 

boughs  and  vines,  interspersed  with  bunches  of 
flowering  blossoms,  trillums,  columbines  and  gen- 
tians. The  poles  and  cross-stringers  of  the  fu- 
neral edifice  were  decked  with  hemlock  houghs, 
made  ornate  by  flowers.  It  was  a  skilful  mingling 
of  life  and  death,  and  every  effort  made  to  have  in 
it  as  little  of  the  gruesome  as  possible.  The  grief 
of  the  desolated  parents  was  pitiable  to  behold,  espe- 
cially the  old  chief,  who.  like  his  race,  shed  no  tears, 
but  his  lined  and  furrowed  face  spoke  volumes. 

It  was  on  a  beautiful  afternoon  in  the  Moon  of  the 
White  Hlossoms  that  the  ornate  corpse  was  to  be 
left  seated  in  solitarv  grandeur,  facing  the  west,  the 
supposed  original  home  of  .  the  progenitors  of  the 
Indian  race.  Could  the  expression,  ''gone  west."  as 
applied  to  death  by  the  llritish  soldiers  in  the  World 
War  be  of  Canadian- Indian  origin?  It  was  the  be- 
lief of  many  of  the  Eastern  Indians  that  their  souls 
went  west  at  death,  to  take  a  long  sea  journey.  John 
Smoke,  a  Clinton  County  Indian  eighty  years  of  age, 
told  Seth  Xelson,  Jr.,  about  ISoO,  that  the  Senecas 
believed  that  they  came  to  America  across  a  narrow 
strip  of  land  from  a  far-distant  western  Continent; 
storms  had  washed  a\vav  this  peninsula;  that 
they  could  not  return  except  after  death,  when  their 
spirits  essaved  towards  the  setting  sun.  "The  Indian 
girl's  body  bedecked,  and  hung  with  flov/ers,  and 
beads  and  all  the  ornaments  that  could  be  gathered  up 
was  carried  gently  up  a  ladder  by  her  father  and 
I  laced  on  her  silent  pedestal.  The  father  then  re- 


168 SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

turned  by  the  ladder,  which  he  hacked  to  pieces  so 
that  no  one  might  use  it  again,  and  after  both  he  and 
his  squaw  had  taken  a  last  lingering  look  at  their  be- 
loved seated  up  there  all  alone,  at  the  head  of  their 
little  band,  they  started  towards  the  north,  to  try 
and  fight  their  way  back  to  the  more  secure  regions 
at  the  headwaters  of  the  Beautiful  River.  It  was  a 
bitter  blow  for  the  old  couple,  and  they  seemed  to 
have  aged  ten  years  by  it,  but  they  maintained  their 
stoical  composure  and  marched  with  heads  held  high, 
as  if  to  show  their  understanding  that  the  Gitchi- 
Manito,  or  Great  Spirit,  knew  best.  The  brief 
Spring  afternoon  faded  into  the  Golden  Hour,  the 
long  shadows  presaged  the  setting  sun,  which  from 
beyond  Ray's  Hill  shed  its  ashes  of  roses  against 
the  unblinking  eyes  of  the  dead  maiden.  The  sun- 
set softened  into  dusk  ,and  soon  it  was  dark  and  a 
new  moon,  the  moon  of  the  White  Blossoms,  poured 
its  calming  incandescence  upon  the  rigid  upturned 
face. 

Morning  came  and  went  and  the  days  and  nights 
passed,  the  coolness  of  nights  closely  approaching 
frost,  so  that  decomposition  did  not  hasten  its  dread- 
ful course.  It  was  the  last  night  of  the  last  quarter 
of  this  moon  that  a  wild  pigeon  hunter,  who  had 
been  fishing  for  squabs  with  a  torch  at  a  distant 
nesting  ground,  passed  through  ''the  Park"  on  his 
homeward  journey  to  his  cabin  in  the  Cove.  He 
carried  a  burlap  bag  chock  full  of  squabs,  over  his 
shoulder,  and  used  the  pole  on  which  he  had  fixed 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  169 

his  torch,  as  a  staff.  As  he  proceeded  through  the 
grove  of  tall  oaks  and  chestnuts  he  noticed  the  plat- 
form on  the  four  high  poles,  and  as  he  neared  it  the 
cold  moonlight  was  shining  full  into  the  placid  face 
of  the  dead  Indian  girl.  The  pigeon  hunter  stopped 
in  front  of  the  platform,  laying  his  bag  of  squabs  on 
the  ground.  He  was  struck  by  the  beauty  of  the 
girl  even  in  death,  the  savage  make-up  of  whitened 
skin,  red  lips,  red  cheeks  and  black  brows  only  made 
her  charm  of  features  stand  out  in  bolder  relief,  all 
shimmering  with  the  silver  of  a  dying  moon.  He 
caught  hold  of  one  of  the  poles,  ami  tried  to  shake  it, 
as  if  to  test  its  stability.  He  was  not  a  heavy  man, 
nor  tall,  so  in  an  instant  he  "shinned"  up  the  pole, 
and  was  standing  on  the  platform,  looking  into  the 
face  of  the  corpse.  He  could  not  believe  her  dead. 
"Oh,  why."  he  said,  looking  at  the  unblinking  moon, 
"must  such  beauty  die?  If  only  I  had  known  her 
and  loved  her  she  might  have  still  been  alive ;  she 
could  not  have  left  one  who  appreciated  her  loveli- 
ness like  I  would  have  done !"  Several  times  he  turn- 
ed away,  as  if  to  leave,  but  always  came  back  to 
stand  before  the  corpse.  Suddenly  an  idea  came  to 
him  and  he  spoke  aloud.  "Perhaps  she  is  not  dead, 
but  merely  in  a  trance.  I  will  take  her  to  my  cabin, 
for  it  is  cold,  and  build  up  a  good  fire,  and  lay  her 
on  my  couch  before  it,  and  she  may  be  warmed  back 
to  life.  T  have  heard  the  old  witch  women  say  that 
many  persons  die  from  lack  of  warmth  of  love ;  I 
shall  try  this  on  her,  and  T  may  win  her  back  from 


170  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

the  worms.''  Stooping  down  he  picked  her  up  in  his 
arms,  the  corpse  was  as  light  as  a  feather,  and  with 
rare  agility  brought  her  down  the  pole  in  safety. 
Leaving  his  staff  on  the  ground,  and  tieing  his  bag  of 
squabs  to  a  limb  of  a  tree  out  of  reach  of  wolves  or 
foxes,  he  resumed  his  journey,  carrying  the  dead 
Indian  girl  like  a  mother  would  dandle  a  baby.  It 
was  a  five  mile  walk,  over  a  steep  uncertain  trail  for 
the  most  part  until  he  reached  his  little  log  cabin  by 
the  boiling  spring  in  the  Cove.  He  unbolted  the  door 
and  sat  the  corpse  in  a  chair  while  he  lighted  a 
fire  in  the  huge  chimney.  He  put  on  plenty  of  knots 
and  rich  pine,  so  that  soon  the  entire  room  was  alight 
with  the  lurid  glow  throwing  into  relief  the  rigid 
figure  on  the  chair,  as  well  as  the  flint-locks,  powder- 
horns  and  antlers  hung  about  the  walls.  He  moved 
his  bunk,  with  its  buffalo  robe  coverings,  in  front  of 
the  tire,  and  stretched  the  body  of  the  dead  girl  out 
on  it.  Then  he  sat  down  in  a  corner  of  the  hearth  to 
tend  the  fire.  He  kept  a  great  blaze  going;  every 
now  and  then  he  would  feel  the  dead  girl's  hands  to 
see  if  they  showed  any  signs  of  life.  It  was  a  fan- 
tastic thing  to  do.  and  would  have  been  termed  mor- 
bid if  done  by  a  person  of  education,  but  to  this 
uncouth  hunter  it  was  merely  trying  to  put  into  prac- 
tice what  the  old  witch  women  of  the  mountains  de- 
clared was  possible  to  renew  life.  After  a  while  the 
warmth  sent  out  by  the  fire,  and  the  spices  on  the 
corpse,  made  the  air  very  heavy  in  the  room  and 
continued  to  lull  him  towards  slumberland.  His 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  171 

head  nodded  on  his  breast  several  times  and  he 
pulled  his  beard  and  tried  every  resolution  to  keep 
awake,  but  he  was  finally  caught  up  by  the  whirlpool 
of  dreams  and  swept  away  into  that  border  realm  of 
eternity.  He  must  have  dreamed,  though  he  was 
sure  he  did  not,  that  it  was  all  real — that  as  he 
watched  the  dead  girl  she  began  to  stir  on  the  couch, 
gradually  raising  her  head,  and  blinking  her  eyes. 
She  pulled  herself  up  a  trifle,  and  looked  around. 
She  sat  upright,  tossing  aside  the  buffalo  robe  which 
had  covered  her  limbs.  She  looked  into  the  various 
corners  of  the  room,  noticing  the  hunter  seated  on 
the  rush-bottom  chair  in  the  inglenook.  The  light 
that  showed  in  her  eyes  may  have  come  from  the  fire, 
but  the  hunter  was  sure  that  it  was  the  light  of  life 
and  understanding  and  something  of  love.  She 
whirled  around  on  the  couch  and  sat  with  her  pretty 
nioccasined  feet  tapping  on  the  buffalo  robe  which 
she  had  tossed  to  the  floor,  her  hands  resting  on  the 
couch.  With  her  hands  she  braced  herself  and  stood 
erect  on  the  buffalo  robe,  swaying  a  trifle  from  side 
to  side,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  hunter.  For  some 
reason  he  could  not  rise  to  assist  her,  but  allowed  her 
to  stand  there  swaying,  swaying,  swaying,  like  a  ghost 
flower  in  a  Maytime  gale.  She  stood  for  some 
time,  as  if  not  quite  sure  enough  of  her  strength  to 
make  a  step.  The  hunter  had  every  confidence  that 
she  would  soon  walk,  but  as  she  looked  at  him  so 
steadily  he  was  sure  that  she  would  come  towards 
him.  Was  ever  mortal  happier  than  he;  if  she  took 


172  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


a  step  she  was  surely  of  the  quick,  and  not  of  the 
dead,  and  would  belong  to  him.  He  had  heard  the 
old  witch  women  say  that  if  a  person  is  called  back 
from  death,  they  can  never  die  again,  so  that  if  she 
lived  she  would  be  his  forever,  or  until  he  would  be 
called  to  leave  her  for  eternity.  Why  did  she  ponder 
so  long?  She  had  the  strength  to  rise  up  on  the 
couch,  and  seat  herself  with  her  feet  tapping  on  the 
floor,  then  to  stand  erect,  why  would  she  not  attempt 
to  walk.  As  he  watched  he  noticed  that  her  feet 
began  to  move  somewhat ;  she  was  beginning  to  walk. 
She  took  one  step  towards  him,  two  steps,  begin  a 
third,  in  two  more  she  would  be  at  his  side.  His 
heart  beat  in  a  frenzy  of  emotion.  As  she  completed 
the  third  step  she  suddenly  doubled  up,  and  fell  with 
a  crash,  like  a  bag  of  bones  at  his  feet.  He  stooped 
to  lift  her  up,  and  she  came  all  apart  in  his  arms. 
The  bead  fell  off  and  rolled  on  the  floor,  almost  into 
the  fire,  the  arms  and  legs  dropped  off  and  at  last  he 
only  retained  a  part  of  the  torso  in  his  grasp  which 
he  later  dropped  to  the  floor  from  sheer  excitement. 
He  was  now  wide  awake,  was  never  more  so  in  his 
life,  and  he  found  himself  standing  before  the  couch, 
the  floor  was  strewn  with  the  disjointed  relics  of  the 
dead  girl,  already  the  fire  had  begun  to  singe  her 
raven  locks.  He  rescued  the  precious  head  before  it 
was  too  late,  and  placed  it  with  torso,  arms  and  legs 
on  the  couch,  and  gazed  with  a  mingling  of  sorrow 
and  despair  on  all  that  was  mortal  of  one  from 
whom  the  spirit  had  surely  fled.  He  gathered  the 


The   Millrace 

in 
Buchanan  Valley 


^ 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN   SKETCHES 


i.-'     -he   wa?  snrvly  (_,|    -,he  quick,  and  not  of  the 

.-    d   wou'd   be'i-n^  [>•  him.     .Me  had   heard   the 

••!i   \v(-.ncn  sav  th-it   if  a  person  :s  eaiied   back 

.  death.,  the\-  can  IKMT    lie  again.   >o  that  if  she 

>;ic  uou'd  be  his   forever,  or  until  he  would  be 

d  to  leave  her  tor  eternity.     \Vh\   did  she  ponder 

'.;ng  '      ^!>e    Isad    :he   sti-fti^th    to    rise    up   on    tlv 

!i,  ;u;  1  srr.t  herself  with  lier  feet  tapping  on  the 

-t;ind  t-rect.  \\liy  vv-aild  .-he  not  attempt 

•\-.    he    w;r<:hed    he    nc  icod    that    her    feet 

"t"    tt~~< 


; i   towards   hun,   u\n   ^teps 


Hi-- 
eted 

fel;  with, 
stooped 
•,ms. 
>st  int! 

•  (ir-.t]  '.egs  di-o])j)cd  ofV  and  ;.t  last  h<' 
ji;;rt   of   'hi.    I'irso  in   his  |^ra-'p   \\hieii 

ir.  the   HI  ',ir    from   sheer  e\«.  Yemeni 

'<.•    i\' ::'--;«-.  ur=-    nevt-r  mo^e  sr*  in  hu 

I'T^elf  standing  before  IIK   couch. 

;rii  the  disjointed  lehcs  of  the 

!v    ;:  u     -ire   had    hc^im    ;o    sini,re   her 

•  n  M'  ici-;  ihe  preciui:;   head  before  it 
;  Mkuxd  "i   with  tur-^o.  iirms  and  legs 
••'   yaxed    with   "    -n  n:.:i'.ug  of   Borrow 

!!    thar    \vas    S'i!'5i*'j  J     >f    one    from 
.d    sure;1--    rte  !       "-^«*   leathered    tlie 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  173 

remains  together  in  the  buckskin  skirt,  so  decorated 
with  gaudy  fringes  and  heads  of  many  colors,  and 
left  the  bundle  on  the  couch  until  morning.  Then 
he  stretched  himself  out  on  the  floor  and  slept  until 
daybreak.  By  the  first  rays  of  dawn  he  started  up 
the  steep  uncertain  trail,  carrying  the  remnants  of 
the  Indian  girl.  When  he  reached  the  platform  at 
the  "Park"  he  nimbly  climbed  up  one  of  the  poles 
and  deposited  the  bundle  on  the  settee,  then  came 
nimbly  down.  He  found  his  staff  and  cut  down  the 
bag  of  squabs  and  started  homeward  along  the  steep, 
uneven  trail.  Even  if  he  had  returned  the  girl's 
bones  to  her  place  of  sepulture  chosen  by  her  parents, 
the  spiritual  part  of  her,  the  ghost,  or  wraith  pre- 
ferred to  stay  back  at  the  cabin  by  the  Boiling  Spring. 
As  he  neared  his  cabin,  in  the  broad  daylight  of  noon, 
he  saw  the  Indian  girl  walking  in  his  little  flower 
garden,  looking  radiant  and  happy,  the  very  antithesis 
of  death.  He  was  too  steeped  in  mountain  lore  to 
even  be  surprised;  a  mountaineer  must  never  allow 
anything  to  disturb  him ;  he  is  taught  that  all  things 
are  a  part  of  Nature,  that  nothing  is  supernatural, 
and  that  the  words  "marvelous"  and  "surprised"  are 
unworthy  of  memorizing.  He  made  no  attempt  to 
go  near  the  ghost,  as  he  wanted  her  to  come  again, 
and  feel  at  home,  so  he  went  indoors  and  put  a  mess 
of  squabs  to  boil,  when  he  went  outside  to  get  some 
more  water  the  ghost  was  gone.  He  had  judged  the 
situation  rightly,  for  every  day  the  ghost  walked 
about  the  garden,  so  he  tramped  to  the  county  seat 


174  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

and  got  the  seeds  of  many  tame  posies  and  trans- 
planted many  wild  flowers  from  the  forests  to  please 
her,  making  the  tiny  plot  a  veritable  bower.  Every 
night  she  would  appear  in  the  cabin,  even  when  the 
hunter's  friends  were  present,  and  on  cold  nights 
would  be  shivering  as  she  came,  and  stand  close 
before  the  fire  to  warm  herself.  He  never  spoke  to 
her,  nor  would  he  allow  his  friends  to  do  so.  He 
felt  that  if  he  spoke  first  he  might  ''lay''  her,  and  she 
could  never  return,  and  that  might  make  her  very 
unhappy,  and  she  would  wail  but  could  not  be  seen. 
If  she  spoke  first  all  would  be  well,  but  never  did 
she  break  her  silence,  just  walked  in  the  garden  or 
enjoyed  the  inglenook,  and  faintly  smiled.  But  it 
delighted  him  to  have  this  charming  ghost  about  the 
place,  and  he  truly  loved  her  more  than  most  men 
could  a  woman  of  flesh  and  blocd.  Many  men  have 
worshipped  an  ideal,  yet  here  was  one  who  saw  her, 
if  not  in  the.  flesh,  in  the  spirit!  And  as  he  grew  old 
the  ghost  ever  seemed  young,  and  even  more  beauti- 
ful, and  when  he  passed  away  at  the  age  of  eighty- 
eight  it  was  with  a  sense  of  joy  to  go.  Those  who 
tended  his  last  illness  knew  the  reason  why,  and  the 
ghost  was  in  the  room,  standing  by  the  fire  on  the 
night  he  breathed  his  last.  The  next  morning,  it  was 
in  the  month  of  the  \Yhite  Blossoms,  when  the  neigh- 
bor men  came  to  lay  him  out  they  saw  him  walking  in 
the  tiny  garden  with  its  slab  fence  all  over-grown  with 
trumpet  vines,  hand  in  hand  with  his  Indian  girl. 
They  laid  out  the  corpse  and  carried  it  to  its  last 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  175 

i.r 

resting  place  on  the  Pike,  but  they  knew  that  his  spirit 
was  in  the  garden,  where  a  ghost  flower  was  its 
choicest  bloom. 

Out  on  the  high  pasture  there  is  present  every 
summer  a  wonderful  jungle  of  sumac  just  where  the 
funeral  pavilion  of  the  Indian  girl  was  located, 
which  aptly  proves  the  belief  of  the  Indians  that  there 
was  also  an  immortality  of  the  body.  Every  Spring 
the  fresh  vigorous  growth  completely  shades  the  spot, 
the  stems  at  that  same  rare  yellowish  pink  brown  that 
was  the  color  of  her  lithe  body,  and  as  the  season 
waxes  from  Summer  into  Autumn  the  flaming  brick 
red  berries  in  great  luxurious  clusters  are  of  the  hue 
that  she  was  so  fond  of  rubbing  on  her  smooth  cheeks 
in  the  brief  days  of  her  hectic  life.  It  is  by  such  sym- 
bols she  lives,  and  enjoys  the  sunrise,  the  sunset,  the 
bree/.es  and  the  rains,  just  as  when  she  formed  a  part 
of  the  endless  cycle  of  existence  with  her  beautiful 
body. 


XIII.    The  Wolfs  Glen 

OX  \Yolf  Camp  Run,  in  Bedford  County,  in  the 
last  decade  of  the  Eighteenth  Century,  stood 
an  old  log  water  mill,  the  first  one  built  in 
that  section  of  the  State,  and  such  a  curious  looking 
structure  that  no  person  could  see  it  and  ever  forget. 
Though  it  was  the  only  place  where  one  could  get  a 
grist  ground  for  miles  around,  the  meagreness  of 
the  population  and  inefficient  management  caused  it 
to  close  down  every  few  years,  until  it  was  perma- 
nently abandoned.  It  was  left  idle  at  one  period  for 
nearly  five  years,  the  surroundings  becoming  over- 
grown with  rank  weeds  and  grass  and  the  building 
itself  an  abode  for  snakes,  lizards,  toads,  skunks, 
woodchucks  and  screech  owls.  It  was  also  rumored 
that  the  mill  was  haunted,  but  these  stories  may  have 
come  from  the  variety  of  sounds  of  the  wild  denizens 
which  inhabited  it,  or  rats  in  the  wooden  machinery. 
To  the  west  of  the  mill  the  Wolf's  Glen  opened  into 
the  narrow  valley  of  Wolf  Camp  Run,  and  in  days 
still  earlier  had  been  a  favorite  "crossing"  for  great 
packs  of  wolves,  and  in  the  pools  of  Little  Wolf  Run, 
in  the  Glen,  they  often  bathed  in  the  warm  evenings 
of  Summer.  The  large  packs  which  howled  about 
the  old  mill  when  it  was  first  built  came  no  more ; 
they  had  crossed  the  run  on  the  ice  about  the  breast 
of  the  dam.  and  made  good  shooting  from  the  upper 
windows  of  the  mill  on  nights  when  there  was  clear 
moonlight.  They  seemed  to  prefer  being  shot  down 

176 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  177 

than  to  change  their  route,  which  they  had  followed 
for  centuries,  and  fell  ready  victims  to  an  unflinch- 
ing principle.  Once  in  a  while  a  wolf  or  two  would 
be  tracked  or  met  with  in  the  forests,  sometimes 
chasing  deer,  or  stealthily  crossing  some  wood  road. 
On  nights  in  the  fall  of  the  year  wolves  would  howl 
at  one  another  from  the  loneliest  knobs,  making  the 
residents  of  the  valley  shiver  with  terror. 

There  was  an  early  settler  on  Wolf  Camp,  named 
Harman  AlcXeely,  who  had  a  very  strange  experience 
with  a  wolf,  that  has  been  whispered  down  the  gen- 
erations as  absolute  fact.  This  young  man  was  a 
noted  hunter  and  trapper ;  in  fact,  his  love  for  the 
chase  was  so  great  that  he  never  cleared  a  farm  in 
his  life.  There  was  nothing  to  show  for  his  strenu- 
ous career  except  on  the  Bounty  lists  in  the  Court 
House.  He  made  his  home  with  a  married  sister 
and  her  husband,  a  well-to-do,  thrifty  couple,  very 
different  from  the  forest-straying  young  Nimrod. 
( )n  one  occasion,  in  the  late  summer,  McNeely  was 
walking  down  the  hollow,  after  an  unsuccessful  day's 
hunt.  It  would  be  close  to  sundown  when  he  passed 
the  deserted  mill.  His  gun  was  across  his  shoulder 
and  he  was  meandering  along  as  he  was  in  no  hurry, 
and  the  shady  trail  seemed  as  good  a  place  to  be  as 
anywhere  else.  All  at  once  he  heard  some  slight  stir 
of  the  branches,  and  noticed  a  black  wolf  come  out 
into  the  middle  of  the  path  about  one  hundred  feet 
in  front  of  him,  stand  still,  looking  at  him  intently. 
Then  the  animal  dropped  its  bushy  tail  between  its 


178  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

legs  and  galloped  down  the  path  towards  the  mill 
site.  For  once  in  his  life  Harman  McNeely  had  suf- 
fered from  what  the  mountaineers  call  ''harsh  fever." 
Jt  had  attacked  him  virulently,  as  he  had  not  even 
taken  his  rifle  off  his  shoulder.  But  he  soon  recov- 
ered himself  and  started  in  pursuit  of  the  wolf  in 
order  to  get  a  shot  at  it.  As  he  emerged  from  the 
forest  he  saw  it  dart  into  the  abandoned  mill.  It 
would  he  a  dark  place  to  go  in  and  shoot  it,  and  he- 
sides  it  might  be  a  spook  wolf,  so  he  stood  on  the 
verge  of  the  woods  and  watched  for  the  animal  to 
reappear.  It  was1  a  somewhat  tedious  wait.  After 
the  sun  had  disappeared  behind  the  knobs  above 
Little  \Yolf  Run,  and  a  dreary  stillness  was  over- 
shadowing the  scene  and  the  air  grew  colder,  the 
hunter  noticed  the  form  of  a  beautiful  young  woman 
emerge  from  the  open  door  of  the  mill.  What  was 
she  doing  there,  and  what  had  she  thought  of  the 
sudden  visit  from  the  wolf?  If  she  was  a  ghost  of 
any  kind  he  must  not  speak  to  her  first,  she  would 
vanish;  if  real  flesh  and  blood  it  would  embarrass 
her  if  she  found  herself  observed.  To  his  surprise 
the  girl  came  towards  him,  innocent  of  all  clothing, 
and  he  stood  rooted  to  the  spot  in  admiration.  She 
was  quite  tall,  with  rounded  ultra-feminine  features, 
dark  brown  hair  and  very  smooth  but  rather  swarthy 
complexion,  her  whole  form  being  supple  and  grace- 
ful in  the  etxreme.  When  she  saw  him,  like  a  beard- 
ed satyr  standing  among  the  leafy  boughs,  she  pro- 
fessed to  express  surprise  and  chagrin.  It  was  all  so 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  179 

very  terrible  to  encounter  a  man  in  her  condition, 
but  perhaps  if  he  would  forgive  he  might  help 
her.  Early  in  the  afternoon  she  had  gone  swimming 
in  the  race,  and  while  'she  was  in  the  water  and  her 
hack  was  turned,  some  malicious  person  had  entered 
the  mill  where  she  had  disrobed,  and  made  off  with 
her  apparel !  She  had  been  traveling  through  the 
country  with  friends,  she  feared  that  they  were  not 
waiting  for  her,  and  she  was  stranded  without  a  gar- 
ment in  a  strange  country  ;  had  he  seen  a  number  of 
travelers  where  the  highway  crossed  the  head  of 
the  run,  if  he  had  come  that  way? 

McNeely  listened  pretending  to  be  impressed,  but 
all  the  while  cherishing  his  own  opinion  of  the  strange 
beauty.  "I  have  not  seen,  anyone  this  afternoon,  but 
if  y;;u  will  wear  my  coat  you  can  come  to  my  sister's 
he  me  for  the  night  or  until  I  can  find  your  compan- 
ions." No  matter  what  she  was.  it  was  worth  the 
adventure.  The  girl  was  lovely  to  look  upon,  and 
spoke  in  a  voice  so'  melodious  that  it  resembled  the 
tinkling  of  a  silver  bell,  like  were  sometimes  put  on 
sheep  to  charm  away  the  wolves.  He  explained  that  his 
sister  lived  about  two  miles  below  the  mill,  that  they 
might  arrive  there  by  dark,  if  they  walked  briskly. 
All  the  while  the  girl  bemoaned  her  lost  clothing  and 
friends,  but  the  hunter  did  not  believe  a  word  she 
said,  lie  maintained  his  very  sympathetic  atttitude, 
for  lie  loved  good  looks  and  saw  only  too  few  fair 
women  in  the  wilderness.  Once  in  Philadelphia  he 
had  stood  on  the  curbstone  and  watched  the  belles  of 


180  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


that  city  going  to  the  Assembly  Ball,  and  they  all  had 
faces  like  the  charming  creature  walking  at  his  side 
When  he  reached  his  sister's  house  he  knocked,  and 
the  good  woman  came  to  the  door.  He  explained  his 
fair  companion's  predicament  which  was,  of  course, 
believed,  and  she  was  immediately  provided  with 
clothing,  his  sister's  black  silk  dress,  of  course!  It 
was  the  only  silk  dress  for  miles  around,  the  envy  of 
the  mountain  women,  but  nothing  was  too  good  for 
this  elegant  looking  female  in  distress.  She  told  a 
long  story,  to  which  McXeely's  sister,  her  husband, 
and  all  the  children  listened  attentively.  The  hunter 
pretended  to  listen,  but  in  reality  he  was  more  intent 
on  outwitting  his  visitor  than  to  hear  her  glib  false- 
hoods. 

"She  must  feel  very  tired  from  fright,"  the  hunter's 
sister  suggested.  The  best  room  in  the  house  was  up 
a  ladder,  with  a  grand  bed  in  it  that  came  all  the  way 
from  Philadelphia.  It  had  been  made  in  Dublin,  of 
the  finest  Irish  walnut.  The  stranger,  still  anxious  to 
create  a  favorable  impression,  went  up  the  ladder 
without  a  murmur,  and  closed  the  trap-door  after  her. 
The  whole  family  wanted  to  talk  at  once  about  her 
terrible  misfortunes,  but  the  young  hunter  stole  away 
to  his  room  and  threw  himself  on  his  bunk,  so  as  to 
think  succinctly.  He  left  his  door  ajar  until  all  the 
members  of  the  household  had  retired,  then  stole 
softly  out  of  his  room,  and  out  of  doors.  He  hurried 
up  the  hollow  until  he  came  to  the  deserted  water  mill, 
which  he  entered. 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  181 


There  \vas  an  almost  full  moon,  and  on  the  floor 
he  saw  a  fresh  wolf  hide,  very  dark,  lying  there  like 
a  snake  would  shed  its  skin !  He  picked  it  up  and 
carried  it  over  to  the  disused  mill  wheel  and  securely 
nailed  it  on.  It  was  in  a  place  where  it  could  not  be 
seen,  and  would  amply  serve  his  purposes.  Then  he 
chuckled  to  himself,  and  as  in  the  afternoon  meander- 
ed down  the  moonlit  path,  which  followed  the  creek, 
until  he  was  at  home.  He  went  indoors,  and  into  his 
room,  where  he  lay  on  his  couch,  with  his  face  to  the 
door,  which  led  into  the  kitchen  or  living  room.  He 
strove  to  keep  awake,  but  fell  into  a  doze  many  times 
before  daybreak.  He  got  up  early  and  went  into  the 
kitchen,  sitting  by  the  fireplace,  cleaning  his  rifle,  his 
eyes  intent  on  the  ladder.  It  was  not  long  before  he 
heard  footsteps  on  the  floor  above,  the  trap  was  open- 
ed, and  the  fair  stranger  descended.  Oh,  what  a 
cbange  there  was!  She  must  have  had  a  terrible 
night  with  the  unseen  forces.  Her  beautiful  face 
was  as  white  as  chalk,  her  lips  were  bloodless,  great 
dark  circles  were  under  her  eyes,  her  hand  was  cold 
and  trembling  when  she  bade  him  "good-morning." 
McXeely  thought  to  himself,  "What  iron  nerve  she 
has,  even  when  she's  defeated.  I  admire  her  pluck !" 
She  knew  that  he  had  her  in  his  power  and  was  re- 
solved to  make  the  best  of  it.  The  girl  apologized 
for  her  nervousness,  said  that  she  never  slept  well  in 
;>  strange  bed.  and  the  window  was  nailed  shut.  She 
made  herself  very  agreeable  to  the  simple  house- 
holders and  showed  no  desire  for  going  away.  Slie 


182  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

turned  in  and  worked,  and  worked  hard,  and  became 
as  if  she  was  one  of  them.  Her  elegant  manners  modi- 
fied, but  her  silvery  voice,  "like  an  angel's  tones,"  as 
McXeely's  sister  called  it,  remained  the  same.  She 
stayed  and  stayed,  but  the  good-hearted  people  were 
too  glad  to  have  her  to  question. 

In  the  course  of  a  few  months  the  hunter  took  her 
to  th.e  County  Seat  and  was  married  to  her  at  the 
Court  House.  For  nearly  a  year  all  went  well,  until 
McNeely  built  a  new  log  house  near  where  the  old 
Indian  path  to  Maryland  crossed  the  mountains.  It 
was  not  far  from  the  mouth  of  XYolf  Camp  Run.  and 
still  further  from  the  creek,  the  deserted  water  mill. 
Instead  of  being  happy  in  a  home  of  her  own,  the 
mysterious  bride  became  restless  and  irritable.  She 
had  restrained  herself  before  his  relatives,  but  now 
had  nothing  to  hold  her  in,  so  chafed  and  fretted 
incessantly.  AlcXeely  tried  to  humor  her.  and  got 
her  all  kinds  of  posies  for  her  garden,  and  tried  in 
every  way  to  please  her.  At  first  he  had  been  charm- 
ed by  her  physical  perfections  and  by  her  resemblance 
to  the  high-bred  beauties  of  Philadelphia,  but  now  he 
genuinely  loved  her,  and  had  forgotten  her  devilish 
origin.  It  pained  him  that  she  was  dissatisfied  and 
he  asked  her  what  was  wrong.  "She's  not  happy,  she 
wants  to  go  away,"  was  all  that  he  could  get  out  of 
her.  "I  will  take  you  anywhere,"  he  replied,  "to  Phil- 
adelphia, or  even  to  Ireland,  if  you  will  onlv  love  me 
and  be  good  to  me."  He  was  no  farmer,  and  mostly 
hunted  and  trapped  to  make  a  living,  consequently 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  183 

was  away  a  good  deal.  "Come  with  me  on  my  hunts," 
he  would  say,  ''or  shall  I  give  up  hunting  and  stay 
with  you  all  the  time."  She  would  not  accompany 
him  to  the  forests  and  bullied  him  when  he  remained 
at  home.  Upset  and  distracted,  he  was  glad  to  seek 
solace  in  the  wilds,  for  he  loved  her  dearly,  a.nd  the 
unkind  treatment  cut  him  to  the  heart.  One  morn- 
ing in  July  he  went  up  \Yolf  Camp  to  bring  in  a  mess 
of  trout  leaving  the  sulky  bride  standing  in  her  flower 
garden,  black  faced  and  muttering  to  herself.  He 
passed  the  deserted  water  mill,  and  thought  of  the 
wolf  hide  nailed  to  the  wheel,  and  went  in  and  tore  it 
down.  Perhaps  she  would  rest  easier  now,  the  nails 
might  be  running  into  her  and  making  her  steadily 
mere  unruly.  Me  tossed  the  hide  into  the  run,  where 
it  was  carried  away  in  the  dark,  foamy  current. 

A  short  distance  above  the  mill  he  met  a  strange 
caravan  moving  clown  the  trail.  It  consisted  of  sixty- 
three  Indian:-;  and  seven  squaws,  having  in  their  cus- 
tody a  white  man  prisoner,  charged,  one  of  their  num- 
ber told  him,  with  having  murdered  their  chief.  This 
prisoner  they  were  conveying  to  General  Washington 
to  ask  sanction  of  the  Great  White  Father,  as  they 
called  the  former  I 'resident,  to  make  the  blood  atone- 
ment ;  in  other  words,  to  sacrifice  according  to  their 
custom,  to  drive  his  body  full  of  blazing  pine  knots 
and  burn  him  at  the  stake.  The  prisoner  seemed  to 
be  a  man  about  twenty-six  years  of  age,  of  great  self- 
composure  and  nonchalance,  as  he  marched  along  sur- 
rounded by  his  captors.  McNeely  rather  despised 


184  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

his  type,  not  tall,  of  meagre  build,  his  nose  turned  up, 
and  there  were  only  signs  of  down  on  his  ill-kept  and 
unshaven  face.  The  Indians  explained  that  they 
were  leaders  at  General  St.  Glair's  defeat  by  the 
Miami  warriors  and  felt  that  they  would  receive  con- 
sideration at  Mount  Yernon.  McNeely  watched 
them  until  they  were  out  of  sight,  then  began  to  fish. 
The  trout  bit  well  that  day,  he  had  the  right  flies,  and 
he  soon  forgot  all  his  troubles  like  a  true  disciple  of 
Isaak  Walton, 

While  the  dissatisfied  bride  was  spading  her  posy 
beds  and  mumbling  incoherently,  a  great  calm  over- 
spread her ;  she  felt  that  she  was  free !  She  kept  on 
spading,  but  instead  of  gibbering  meanness,  was  sing- 
ing a  song  in  a  strange  high  key.  She  looked  over  the 
slab  fence  and  up  the  road.  She  stopped  working  and 
rested  on  her  spade.  She  saw  the  Indian  caravan 
drawing  near,  the  great  copper  colored  warriors,  the 
squaws  bending  under  their  heavy  loads,  the  unkempt, 
puny  prisoner  in  their  midst.  As  the  captive  passed 
by  the  dark  girl  dropped  the  spade  and  sprang  over 
the  unrooted  spring  flowers  and  sods  to  the  fence. 
"Where  are  you  going  with  that  man?"  she  shouted 
to  the  stalwart  Indians  who  surrounded  him.  Her 
loud  voice,  it  was  not  silvery  but  brazen,  stopped  the 
caravan,  and  a  very  tall,  very  courteous  warrior,  who 
seemed  to  be  the  leader,  came  to  the  fence  and  ex- 
plained the  situation  as  he  had  to  McNeely  an  hour 
earlier,  and  to  probably  a  hundred  other  inquisitive 
persons  since  they  had  left  the  town  of  Louisbourg, 


A   Mountain   Meadow 

Near 
New  Baltimore 


»r;TH   MOl  NTAIN   SKETCHES 


t  ;.!c  igre  build,  IPS  nose  turned  up, 

•t£?ns  oi  down  on  his  ill-kept  and 

The    Indians  explained    that    they 

•«::iev;il    ^r.    Clair's    defeat    bv    the 

rel.  that  thev-  would  receive  con- 

•i  vi     N'e-niMi.         McNeelv     watched 

.".'    »tU  .*r'  si^ht,  then  'began  to  iish. 

.••a"  .''?i\-.  hf.   had  the  right  flies,  and 

-    '  '-eiplc.  of 

her  posy 
tver- 
<(']>{  on 
ss.  was  >ing- 
Sed  over  the 
• .  ork  ing  and 
nan   caravan 
;  iors.    the 
K  the  unkempt, 
\-   *'!C  t.r.|  '.MC   passed 
•.id-,    and   sprang   over 
•'.xls   t<;   th.e    fence, 
•nan  :"  .-he  s'lonted 
r!'i  -;ivid(jd    l:im.      i  Ter 
Vi'-rixi :;,  stopped  the 
•'r!eou<  warrior,  who 
<t   the    fence  and   ex- 
t"   M.;Xe.;l\-  an   hour 
rei^   '  MHT   irujuisitivc 
\n\\-T,  . ,f   l.oui.sbonrg. 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  185 

the  name  of  which  had  been  lately  changed  to  Harris- 
burg.  "That  man  is  my  husband,  and  I  mean  to  go 
with  him  to  Washington  to  see  that  justice  is  done." 
The  prisoner  opened  wide  his  fine  dark  eyes,  was 
about  to  protest,  but  one  look  at  the  beautiful  woman 
made  him  hold  his  tongue.  He  needed  just  such 
?,  companion  and  champion,  as  he  feared  that  the 
Indians,  if  they  lost  heart  of  obtaining  a  favorable 
opinion  from  General  Washington — they  had  already 
been  to  see  the  President  at  Philadelphia — might  mur- 
der him  along  the  way. 

The  girl  vaulted  over  the  fence  and  ran  towards 
the  captive.  The  young  man  caught  her  in  his  arms 
and  covered  her  swarthy  face  with  kisses.  "My  long 
lost  wife,  my  darling,"  he  exclaimed  fervently.  Then, 
with  the  prisoner  and  the  girl  in  their  midst,  the 
squaws  picked  up  their  bundles  and  the  caravan  re- 
sumed its  march.  Harman  McNeely  was  so  intent 
on  fishing  that  he  missed  his  dinner,  but  to\vards  sun- 
clown  came  home  with  a  string  of  several  hundred 
fine  trout.  The  door  was  open,  the  spade  lay  in  the 
garden.  There  was  no  fire  on  the  hearth?  The  mys- 
terious bride  had  gone. 

"Well,  wasn't  I  the  double-dyed  fool  this  morning 
to  tear  that  wolf's  hide  off  the  wheel.  That  she-devil 
only  stayed  with  me  because  she  could  not  resume  her 
wolf's  form  while  her  hide  was  nailed  to  the  wheel. 
When  I  pulled  off  the  hide  she  was  free  and  she  has 
lit  out  for  parts  unknown,  but  I  am  glad  to  be  lid  of 
a  wolf-wife,  pretty  as  she  was."  He  hung  his  fish 


186  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

pole  on  the  rafters  in  the  kitchen,  left  the  fish  in  a 
bucket  in  the  spring  house,  lit  his  pipe  and  walked 
down  the  road  to  his  nearest  neighbor's,  just  beyond 
where  the  Indian  trail  crossed  the  ridge.  The  neigh- 
bor's wife,  who  was  on  the  front  steps  smoking  an 
Indian  pipe,  jumped  up  at  his  approach.  "Oh,  Har- 
man !"  she  called  out,  "we  saw  a  big  Indian  caravan 
go  over  the  trail  this  forenoon,  and  my  man  would 
take  oath  that  walking  beside  a  white  prisoner  was 
your  woman."  "Xo  doubt  it  was,  bad  cess  to  her," 
said  McXeely,  calmly.  Then  he  sat  down  on  the 
steps  beside  the  good  wroman,  and  between  puffs  or 
his  pipe  told  her  all  the  incidents  of  his  wooing 
and  losing  the  bride  that  had  come  from  the  Wolf's 
Glen  or  from  the  dell.  As  the  woman  heard  the  nar- 
rative she  felt  all  the  while  that  he  was  lying  to  black- 
en a  woman  who  had  run  away  from  him,  but  ihe 
noted  every  detail  of  the  story  in  her  memory  aiv! 
toid  it  ic  many  persons  in  after  years,  until  it  becvr.o 
ac/ejtcd  as  a  matter  of  fact  in  the  mountains. 


XIV.    The  Blue  Girl 

TWO  old  traveling  men  were  talking  together  in 
one  of  the  back  parlors  of  the  Graeffenburg 
Inn.  They  were  sitting  close  to  the  stove,  for 
i<  was  a  very  cold  night,  and  seemed  loath  to  ex- 
change such  cozy  quarters  for  the  frigid  bedrooms 
upstairs.  They  had  never  met  before  that  evening,  al- 
though they  had  often  heard  one  another's  names  men- 
tioned in  a  business  way.  Jacob  Asbaugh  traveled  for 
a  whiskey  house,  Jacob  Lobengeir  for  a  cigar  manu- 
facturer. As  their  talk  progressed  the  old  men  found 
that  each  had  been  born  on  the  2  1st  of  August,  1845, 
had  both  served  in  the  Civil  War,  Asbaugh  in  the  in- 
fantry, Lobengeir  in  the  cavalry.  They  belonged  to 
families  having  some  historic  significance  in  the  sec- 
tions of  Pennsylvania  where  they  originated,  and 
withal  looked  enough  alike  to  be  twin  brothers.  They 
were  tall,  well  set-up  men,  with  white  beards  and 
shaven  upper  lips,  faultlessly  attired,  and  could  have 
passed  for  fashionable  clergymen  as  easily  as  pur- 
veyors of  two  of  the  chief  weaknesses  of  humanity. 
They  had  many  mutual  friends  and  had  traveled  over 
much  the  same  territory.  It  was  strange  that  they  had 
never  met  before. 

As  the  evening  wore  on  they  began  telling  of  trips 
and  unusual  experiences  that  had  befallen  them  dur- 
ing their  many  years  "on  the  road."  Old  Asbaugh 
was  fond  of  nature  and  outdoor  life,  and  whenever 
he  could  traveled  by  horse  and  buggy,  combining  that 

187 


188  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

way,  he  said,  business  with  pleasure.  He  could  never 
forget  a  sleigh  ride  he  had  taken  one  winter  morning 
from  Hamburg,  in  Berks  County,  across  the  Blue 
Mountains  to  Drehersville,  in  Schuylkill  County.  The 
sleighing  was  at  its  best,  the  sun  shone  brightly,  the 
air  was  crisp  and  cold,  the  sleigh  bells  chimed  melo- 
diously. His  driver  was  an  old-time  liveryman  who 
knew  all  the  bits  of  local  history  for  miles  around.  As 
they  toiled  up  the  steep  mountain  road,  after  having 
viewed  the  marvelous  amplitheatre  where  the  majestic 
mountains  make  a  semi-circle  about  the  quaint  old 
town  of  Eckville,  Asbaugh  had  looked  back  and  noted 
a  peculiar  blue  emanation  rising  from  the  mountains, 
an  atmospheric  phenomenon  that  had  escaped  the 
historians  of  the  Kittochtinnies.  Calling  the  driver's 
attention,  that  worthy  had  stated  that  the  blue  vapor 
could  always  be  seen  on  bright  days,  and  especially 
on  days  which  were  clear  and  cold.  This  Alice  blue 
aura  had  given  the  mountains  their  English  name,  all 
die  early  settlers  had  noticed  it. 

Then  he  proceeded  to  tell  a  legend  of  the  beginnings 
of  the  Blue  Mountains,  away  back  at  the  dawn  of  his- 
tory. A  famous  Necromancer,  in  wandering  through 
the  forests,  came  upon  a  beautiful  girl  lying  asleep, 
clad  only  in  a  blue  gauze  veil.  He  had  watched  every 
curve  of  her  body  for  several  hours,  struck  by  her 
extreme  loveliness,  and  the  grace  of  her  recumbent 
pose,  until  at  last,  having  to  leave,  and  not  wanting  to 
disturb  her,  changed  her  into  the  Blue  Mountain, 
so  that  her  faultless  outlines  could  be  before  him  to 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  189 

the  last  day  of  'his  life.  The  seeming  blue  vapor  was 
but  the  veil  of  the  sleeping  beauty,  and  never  had 
Asbaugh  seen  it  so  clearly  as  on  that  sleighing  trip  to 
Drehersville.  Lobengeir  had  become  interested  by 
the  recital,  and  when  the  other  old  drummer  had  fin- 
ished said  that  he  could  tell  a  story  of  another  Blue 
Girl,  closely  associated  with  the  Kittochtinny  Moun- 
tains, but  at  a  later  period,  during  the  Civil  YYar.  At 
the  time  Lobengeir  was  a  member  of  the  famous  fight- 
ing Seventh  Cavalry,  and  was  stationed  in  the  valley 
beyond  Casey's  Gap.  Confederate  raids  were  expecl- 
ed  through  the  gap,  but  as  none  materialized  discip- 
line was  relaxed  and  the  troopers  had  a  very  enjoyable 
time  in  the  rich  farming  country,  unspoiled  by  the 
ruthlessness  of  warfare.  Private  Lobengeir.  as  he 
was  then  called,  had  taken  to  frequenting  a  picturesque 
old  tavern,  just  on  the  ''divide"  in  Casey's  Gap,  where 
on  Sunday  afternoons  good  chickjcn  dinners  were 
served,  and  there  was  always  congenial  company. 
The  woman  who  kept  the  house  was  said  to  be  a 
Southern  sympathizer,  as  was  her  German  hired  man 
and  hostler.  Outwardly  they  rallied  for  the  North, 
but  they  dropped  words  occasionally  that  seemed  to 
indicate  a  different  partiality.  However.  Confederate 
sympathizers  in  the  Southern  Counties  of  Pennsylva- 
nia were  more  numerous  than  pro-Germans  in  the 
World  \Yar  days,  and  there  were  less  concerted 
measures  for  suppressing  them.  What  appealed  most 
to  Private  Lobengeir  was  the  landlady's  girl  of  all 
work,  called  the  Blue  Girl,  because  she  alwavs  wore  a 


190  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

blue  frock  and  had  the  bluest  eyes  he  had  ever  seen. 
She  was  an  orphan  girl,  about  eighteen  years  of  age, 
very  willing  and  cheerful,  which  caused  her  to  be 
loaded  with  an  enormous  burden  of  miscellaneous 
work.  When  the  hostler  went  away  to  visit  his  chil- 
dren at  Emmitsburg  the  Blue  Girl  watered  the  horses 
of  the  travelers,  and  would  have  attended  to  the  un- 
saddling and  saddling  had  the  guests  been  so  unchival- 
rous  as  to  have  permitted  it. 

Lobengeir  liked  to  look  at  her,  waiting  on  table,  or 
cooking  or  scrubbing.  She  was  so  pretty  with  her 
transparent  azure  eyes,  dark  curly  brown  hair  and 
blue  gown.  Of  all  the  young  soldiers  who  frequented 
the  inn  he  had  gotten  to  know  her  best,  and  learned 
from  her  a  few  facts  concerning  her  life  and  her 
point  of  view.  The  more  he  saw  of  her  the  more  he 
cared  for  her  and  wished  for  the  power  and  the 
means  to  take  her  away  from  her  miserable  surround- 
ings and  make  her  his  wife.  He  pondered  for  hours 
as  he  rode  on  his  rough-riding,  raw-boned  horse  on 
practice  marches,  how  he  could  adjust  things  so  that 
he  might  have  the  Blue  Girl  with  him  always.  She 
became  the  inspiration  of  his  military  life,  and  it 
would  have  been  a  crushing  blow  if  he  had  been 
ordered  elsewhere.  The  Blue  Girl  was  destined  to 
become  a  leading  figure  in  what  might  have  been  a 
sanguinary  midnight  foray,  and  as  she  prevented  it, 
the  Congressional  Medal  in  some  shape  or  form  should 
have  been  hers.  But  she  was  merely  moving  along 
towards  realizing  a  fortuitous  destiny  of  another  kind. 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  191 


The  Blue  Girl  was  strong  in  her  Union  sympathies, 
and  was  very  suspicious  of  some  characters  who 
fraternized  with  the  landlady,  especially  as  they  pre- 
ferred to  come  after  dark.  Most  of  them  held  con- 
ferences with  the  woman  in  upstairs  rooms  and  left 
before  daybreak.  The  Blue  Girl  felt  that  she  was 
not  a  person  of  enough  consequence  in  the  world  to 
interfere,  but  she  disliked  the  disloyal  atmosphere. 
Sometimes  the  young  cavalrymen  joked  her  about  the 
hotel  being  a  Copperhead's  Den,  but  she  said  if  such 
was  the  case,  she  was  Northern  true  blue.  They  be- 
lieved her  as  instinctively  as  they  doubted  the  land- 
lady's loyalty.  The  Blue  Girl  often  wished  that  she 
could  repeat  her  suspicions  to  Lobengeir,  but  feared 
that  she  would  be  only  laughed  at,  and  that  some  one 
ir.  authority  would  say,  ''It's  no  business  of  hers.'' 

( ,lne  cold  night — it  was  much  the  same  kind  of 
night  as  when  the  old  traveling  men  were  talking  by 
the  stove  in  the  cozy  back  parlor  at  Graeffenburg  Inn, 
rain  that  had  turned  to  sleet,  and  frozen  after  it  fell, 
and  a  sharp,  penetrating  air,  that  several  mysterious 
individuals  appeared  at  the  tavern  in  Casey's  Gap. 
The  hostler  had  taken  them  upstairs  to  the  landlady's 
own  room,  and  had  been  carrying  whiskev  from  the 
bar  all  evening  long.  The  Blue  Girl  occupied  a  small 
room  back  of  the  bar.  It  could  only  be  reached  from 
the  bar-room  or  from  the  back  yard,  and  she  was 
wakened  repeatedly  by  the  hired  man  coming  through 
the  swinging  door  for  more  bottles,  clinking  glasses 
and  the  like.  "What  deviltry  are  they  up  to  "  she 


192  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

thought,  as  she  tossed  about  on  her  narrow,  uncom- 
fortable bunk.  It  must  have  been  a  couple  of  hours 
past  midnight  when  they  came  downstairs  to  leave. 
Evidently  some  knotty  problems  remained  unsolved, 
as  they  stepped  out  of  the  hall  in  to  the  dark  bar- 
room to  finish  their  arguments.  The  hostler,  who 
slept  in  the  barn,  had  gone  to  fetch  their  horses,  and 
they  felt  perfectly  secure  to  talk  as  they  pleased. 
From  her  little  room  back  of  the  bar  the  Blue  Girl 
could  hear  every  word  they  said.  They  were  South- 
ern spies,  surely  enough,  reconnoitering  on  the  chances 
of  a  cavalry  raid  for  the  next  night  through  the  Gap, 
a  raid  as  swift  as  an  Arab  Razzia  that  would  throw 
the  camp  of  the  Seventh  Cavalry  into  such  confusion 
that  they  could  over-run  the  whole  valley  by  morning. 
The  secret  of  the  plan  was  that  the  Northern  troops 
were  not  guarding  the  narrow  defile  of  the  Gap ;  tiiey 
could  get  a  flying  start  and  over-ride  the  camp  and 
make  a  hundred  square  miles  Confederate  territory. 
It  would  be  a  long  ride,  but  they  were  sure  of  success 
by  catching  the  Northern  forces  napping  in  more  re- 
spects than  one. 

Just  in  the  midst  of  their  recapitulations,  when 
their  voices  were  rising  to  a  high  pitch  of  enthusiasm, 
the  landlady,  in  her  wrapper  and  carrying  a  candle, 
burst  in  among  them.  "Gentlemen,  gentlemen,"  she 
whispered,  "speak  low,  or  speak  not  at  all.  My  hired 
girl  is  in  the  room  back  of  the  bar,  and  she  must  have 
heard  everything.  I  don't  know  anything  against  her, 
but  too  many  must  not  know  plans  such  as  ours.  I 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  193 

supposed  that  when  you  left  me  you  were  waiting  for 
your  horses  on  the  porch,  but  I  heard  your  voices 
clear  up  in  my  room  and  came  down  to  investigate 
and  warn  you." 

The  Southern  spies,  judging  from  their  faces  as 
reflected  in  the  candlelight,  were  much  chagrined  by 
their  careless  conduct.  The  leader,  whose  wavy  black 
beard  hung-  to  below  his  waist,  called  out,  ''Bring  the 
girl  in  here,  we  will  determine  what  to  do  with  her  ; 
we  cannot  be  sure  of  anybody  these  times." 

The  Blue  Girl  from  her  narrow  couch  heard  this 
and  realized  the  time  for  action  had  arrived.  She  had 
never  worn  a  nightgown  in  her  life,  but  slept  in  a 
canton-flannel  shirt.  Jt  was  only  a  moment's  work 
to  slip  her  blue  gown,  which  lay  across  the  foot  of  the 
couch,  over  this  and,  barefooted  and  barelegged,  to 
dart  out  the  back  door  into  the  icy  night.  Quickly 
running  around  the  corner  of  the  house,  she  dashed 
down  the  foacl  towards  the  valley  as  fast  as  her 
shapely  legs  could  carry  her. 

The  landlady  hurried  through  the  door  at  the  end 
of  the  bar.  and  groped  in  the  darkness  to  the  Blue 
Girl's  bunk.  ''Rose,  Rose."  she  called,  "get  right 
up  and  come  with  me."  There  was  no  answer.  The 
woman  ran  her  hands  over  the  couch.  The  girl  was 
gone !  With  a  scream  the  woman  stumbled  back  into 
the  light  of  the  bar-room.  "The  girl  is  not  there ;  I 
fear  for  the  worst,"  she  shrieked  at  the  top  of  her 
nasal  voice.  The  conspirators  drew  their  cloaks 
about  them  like  stage  villains,  and  ran  in  every  direc- 


194  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

tion  but  the  right.  Finally  the  woman  guided  them 
to  the  door  where,  befuddled  from  too  much  liquor, 
they  shouted  for  their  horses.  Not  one  had  the  quick- 
ness of  wit  to  run  towards  the  valley,  to  where  the 
Union  forces  were  camped,  to  where  the  girl  had 
gone,  if  she  meant  harm.  Any  fairly  good  runner 
could  have  overtaken  her.  The  German  handy-man 
soon  appeared  with  the  horses,  and  was  cursed 
roundly  by  the  spies.  As  the  black-bearded  leader  at- 
tempted to  vault  into  the  saddle  his  horse  rose  up 
with  him,  he  was  thrown  on  his  head  on  the  frozen 
ground  and  rendered  unconscious.  His  followers 
picked  him  up  and  placed  him  on  one  of  the  horse' 
in  front  of  his  chief  lieutenant,  and  the  ca»-iicaJe 
moved  off,  not  towards  the  valley,  but  back  in  the 
direction  from  whence  they  came — to  bring  tidings 
of  the  failure  of  the  scheme  and  advise  that  no  raid 
take  place. 

The  Blue  Girl  never  ceased  running  until  she  came 
in  sight  of  the  outposts  of  the  Union  Camp.  She 
stopped,  and  when  she  got  her  breath,  shouted  to  the 
nearest  sentry,  and  was  taken  charge  of  and  led  to 
headquarters.  She  was  in  a  sorry  plight  when  she 
reached  the  Major  commanding.  Her  matty  hair  was 
streaming  down  her  back,  her  blue  gown  was  not  but- 
toned and  was  half  off,  her  feet  were  cut  and  bleed- 
ing from  running  on  frozen  ground ;  her  heart  beat 
against  her  breast,  and  she  was  too  nervous  to  Lalk 
coherently.  The  young  Major  stroked  his  beard  and 
bade  her  be  seated  in  his  easv  chair  while  he  inter- 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  195 

rogated  her.  She  had  brought  valuable  information ; 
there  could  be  no  doubt  of  it.  The  forces  must  be 
concentrated  so  as  to  guard  the  defile  or  be  mobile 
for  defense,  but  he  was  strategist  enough  to  feel  that 
there  would  be  no  raid,  the  spies  would  report 
against  it. 

Xext  morning  the  gap  was  camped  full  of  cavalry- 
men, and  several  regiments  were  posted  about  the  val- 
ley to  swarm  up  to  cut  off  any  ingress  should  the 
raiders  get  by  the  guardians  of  the  pass.  Needless 
to  say,  there  was  no  raid.  The  Major  was  right.  The 
landlady  of  the  inn  and  her  hostler  were  placed 
under  military  guard.  The  J>lue  Girl  was  sent  to  a 
friendly  farm  house  in  the  valley  under  care  of  Pri- 
vate Lobengeir,  to  whom  she  repeated  her  earlier  mis- 
givings that  she  had  longed  to  bring  in  to  headquarters. 

This  episode  clinched  the  incipient  romance,  and  the 
young  cavalryman  and  the  I  Hue  Girl  exchanged  tokens 
and  were  married  at  the  close  of  the  war.  "\Ye  cele- 
brated our  Golden  Wedding  last  year,  in  the  presence 
of  ten  children  and  fifteen  grandchildren,"  said  the 
old  salesman,  proudly.  ''So  you  can  see  that  I  did 
not  have  to  change  my  lUue  Girl  of  the  Kittochtinnies 
into  a  mountain  in  order  to  keep  her  in  sight.  It  was 
<•>  happy  day  for  me  that  I  was  stationed  in  the  vicinity 
of  Casey's  Gap.  Fate  lias  always  something  nice  in 
store  for  the  young  men  who  let  it  come  to  them  and 
do  not  grow  impatient !" 


XV.    The  Black  Cat  at  Peter  Allen's 

IS  the  Pecan,  Fisher  or  Black  Cat  (Mustela  Cana- 
dcnis),  completely  extinct  in  Pennsylvania?  If 
this  question  was  put  to  a  jury  of  the  most  ex- 
pert woodsmen  and  trappers  of  the  South  Mountains 
it  is  safe  to  assume  that  the  answer  would  be  in  the 
affirmative.  Why  this  shy,  inoffensive  creature  should 
have  been  marked  for  destruction  by  the  insatiable 
hunting  class  remains  a  mystery.  True  enough  its 
fur  was  valuable,  but  even  so,  it  should  have  been 
trapped  as  the  Indians  did  for  untold  centuries  with- 
in reason,  within  season,  with  common  sense. 

Unlike  the  Wolverene  or  the  Pine  Marten,  the 
Black  Cat  enjoyed  a  habitat  including  pretty  much  all 
of  what  is  known  as  "Mountainous  Pennsylvania."  In 
no  region  was  it  more  plentiful  than  in  the  South 
Mountains,  Conewago  and  Pigeon  Hills,  as  well  as 
in  the  chains  of  mountains  which  the  Susquehanna 
River  bisects  above  Harrisburg,  the  Kittochtinny  or 
Blue  Mountains  (First  and  Second  ranges),  Peter's, 
Berries,  Mahantango  and  Mahanoy  Mountains.  It  ir> 
stated  that  the  live  specimen  which  Professor  Spencer 
Fullerton  Baird  sent  to  J.  J.  Audubon  was  one  of  two 
Pecans  which  the  great  Berks  County  naturalist  cap- 
tured on  Peter's  Mountain,  not  for  from  Peter  Allen's 
Stone  Trading  House,  early  in  February,  1844. 

As  late  as  March  11,  1896,  a  magnificient  Black  Cat 
was  killed  in  Lancaster  County,  on  Mill  Creek,  a 
stream  which  rises  in  the  Welsh  Mountains.  Profes- 

196 


*•- 


1 

Peter  Allen's 

(Photograph  by 

Mrs.  Christian  W.  Lynch, 

1919) 


*•- 


Blaciit  Cat  at  Peter  Allen's 

b"'i<'-}f. '  or  {.Hack  Ca!   (Mustela  C'ana- 
ifVtij'l'-teh   oxiinct  in   Pennsylvania?     If 

lion  v,a»  i  mi  to  a  jury  of  the  most  t\- 
;  Hue  trt  ,pers  of  tlv:.1  South  Mountain; 
•smm  HIM  rhe  ar,-\vcr  \\-ould  be  in  the 

h->-  ii-is  i.'v,  iii-'iltirnriive  -.feature  slionld 
•;-vd  fi  •  .losii'!.:vf:')p.  by  Hie  insatiable 

-v!]-i'.i.  :i;  a  r:i\  -^c-'y  True  eno'iifh  it> 
.  but  cvcir  -;o.  :t  sl"'m!d  have  i»e^n 


.W  flfiiJchifD  .8iM 

• 


ijoto! 

• 

i*"'!":!)   mucli  all 
unsv]\fania."    In 


d;v-    South 


: 


..—  .—.._..— ——.^ 
!rs;.aiid   Sec   -ni   ranges,,    Peter's, 
.1  ah.!    '.!  iban  r.    Mountain?.     It  is 
•  )••*.•   li'.u  :     wl'.-icl..  I  'rof  e--*'»r  Spirnce1' 
'.«;  J          Vii'.lr.bi  n  v. a>  -one  '»f  two 
••a'    I'.i:!'l;<  Counts    naturalist   cap- 
mi'  li'i.  H"l    fn:  fnnn  T't-ttr  Ailcn'- 
•••.   harl\    i      rclin\C'.rv,    iSM. 
li.  'H^'fi.  a  i'.iaji'tnHcitnt  i.Jlack  C:it 
.:I?:;T    Coun;>.    on    Mill    Creek,    a 
io  t   c   ^»  -  ^-h   Mountain*.      Profes- 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  197 


sor  Elliott  Coues  in  his  "Fur  Bearing  Animals  of 
America,"  published  in  1877,  states  that  at  that  time 
Black  Cats  were  fairly  plentiful  in  the  Mountains  of 
Cumberland  and  Perry  Counties.  These  Counties 
contain  the  Kittochtinny  and  the  Broad  Mountains, 
the  Tuscarora  Mountains  and  other  chains. 

John  H.  Chatham,  "Poet  of  Central  Pennsylvania, ' 
saw  a  Fisher  bathing  in  the  mill  pond  at  Farrands- 
ville,  Clinton  County,  about  1874.  A  number  of  years 
earlier  than  that  John  G.  Davis,  also  of  Clinton  Coun- 
ty, saw  one  crossing  the  Crispin  Fields,  a  clearing  on 
the  Bald  Eagle  Mountain,  east  of  Lock  Haven. 

Jacob  Quiggle,  a  venerable  raftsman  of  Clinton 
County,  who  died  in  1911,  recalled  that  the  skins  of 
fishers  were  sold  by  Indians  at  the  mouth  of  Moshan- 
non  Creek,  in  Centre  County,  previous  to  the  Civil 
War  period.  The  old  gentleman  stated  that  at  no 
time  was  the  Black  Cat  as  plentiful  as  the  wild  cat 
or  the  wolf,  but  in  the  Colonial  days  it  was  to  be  found 
frequently  enough  to  warrant  hunters  devoting  their 
entire  time  to  its  chase  and  capture.  Its  glossy,  horse- 
chestnut  colored  fur  was  very  popular  at  one  time 
for  capes,  which  were  worn  by  Indian  princesses  and 
young  women  of  the  leading  pioneer  families.  It  was 
a  favorite  token  of  backwoods  lovers  to  present  these 
handsome  raiments  to  the  objects  of  their  devotion. 
One  story,  dating  back  to  colonial  days,  the  aged  river- 
man  was  particularly  fond  of  relating.  It  had  been 
told  to  his  grandfather.  Ensign  Philip  Quigley,  of 
Revolutionary  fame,  by  Captain  Peter  Pentz,  of  the 


198  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN   SKETCHES 


Rangers,  and  gave  an  insight  into  colonial  life  on  the 
frontier,  and  the  excessive  popularity  of  the  fur  of 
the  IHack  Cat  among  the  Indians,  the  frontiersmen 
and  their  ladies. 

The  scene  of  this  particular  incident  was  laid  at 
the  foot  of  Peter's  Mountain,  at  Peter  Allen's  stone 
house,  for  half  a  century  or  more  the  favorite  stop- 
ping place  and  resting  place  for  travelers  already 
weary  of  their  journeys  from  Conewago.  Nazareth, 
Heidelberg  and  Louisbourg  (Harris'  Ferry),  who  had 
many  more  mountains  to  cross  before  reaching  their 
ultimate  goal  at  Shamokin,  ''The  Place  of  the  Horns," 
now  called  Sunbury.  So  many  were  the  travelers 
that  the  entire  second  floor  of  the  long,  solidly  built 
structure — it  was  completed  about  1T29 — was  given 
over  to  their  accommodation.  A  hempen  curtain  hung 
across  one  end  showed  where  a  place  was  reserved  for 
female  guests.  Near  the  ladies'  department  was  the 
opening  of  the  stair-case  from  below.  Wooden  bunks, 
one  above  the  other,  ranged  along  the  sides  of  the  big 
sleeping  room,  these  being  packed  with  straw.  One 
window  in  each  end  furnished  light  and  ventilation. 
The  windows  were  nailed  shut  in  the  winter  time,  as 
there  was  no  way  in  which  to  heat  the  vast  apart- 
ment except  from  the  hall  of  the  stairway  from  the 
kitchen  and  living  room  below.  In  the  centre  of  the 
room  were  piled  the  tackle  and  baggage  of  the  sleep- 
ing travelers. 

When   the   Rangers   or   other   military   bodies   came 
there    sometimes    as    manv    as    half    a    hundred    men 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  199 


slept  in  the  rows  of  bunks.  Xo  pillows  or  coverlets 
were  provided;  the  pioneers  always  carried  feather 
quilts  or  buffalo  robes  and  put  their  saddle  bags  or 
packs  under  their  heads,  if  they  needed  pillows. 
Travelers  of  quality,  such  as  officers,  land  agents, 
church  dignitaries  and  the  like  were  invariably  ac- 
companied by  servants  who  arranged  their  bunks 
with  feather  "ticks,"  sheets,  blankets,  and  pillows  be- 
fore their  haughty  masters  retired.  Generally  the 
compartment  reserved  for  women  was  given  over  to 
the  male  travelers  of  high  degree,  as  they  desired  the 
exclusive-ness  which  it  brought  to  them. 

On  a  certain  afternoon  in  November,  1?<S1,  the 
st"ne  house  was  honored  by  a  visit  from  Captain 
Cecil  Goheen.  of  Philadelphia,  sent  there  by  the  de 
fih' to  government  to  settle  the  scalp  bounty  with  the 
Rangers.  As  it  happened  this  was  the  last  payment 
ever  made  on  Indian  scalps  in  Pennsylvania,  so  in 
this  respect  it  was  an  historic  occasion.  John  Penn. 
Governor,  at  the  instigation  of  several  of  the  vir- 
tuous and  churchly  leaders  of  the  Proprietary  Gov- 
ernment had  instituted  this  humane  policy  of 
ridding  the  Pennsylvania  Mountains  of  the  last  re- 
maining Indians,  it  was  continued  through  the  greater 
portion  of  the  Revolution,  when  it  was  abandoned 
partly  through  lack  of  funds,  partly  because  the 
hunted  became  so  scarce  it  hardly  paid  men  to  spend 
their  entire  time  seeking  them.  In  other  words,  the 
red  men  and  the  red  women  and  red  children,  too. 
were  trapped  for  the  bounty  on  their  scalps  much  as 


200  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


big,  hale,  hearty  men  today  who  ought  to  be  in  the 
foundries  or  in  the  mines,  spend  weeks  and  months 
capturing  minks,  weasels  and  wild  cats  for  the  few 
dollars'  bounty  secured  for  them  by  the  crafty,  dirty 
politicians,  who  sponsor  the  Hunters'  License  Fund. 

Captain  Goheen,  on  this  particular  expedition  car- 
ried on  his  person  no  less  than  £5,000  sterling;  a  pay- 
master accompanied  him  to  engage  in  the  actual 
handling  of  the  ''lucre,"  also  a  detail  of  guards  and 
orderlies,  for  ambush  attacks  by  Indians  and  white 
marauders  were  still  likely  to  occur.  The  bounty  at 
this  time,  figured  into  American  currency  of  present 
value,  amounted  to  about  $134.00  per  scalp  for  a  full 
grown  male  Indian,  $50.00  for  the  scalps  of  Indian 
women  and  children.  Many  Rangers  had  huge  "kills" 
of  Indians  to  their  credit.  For  instance,  when  on 
September  13,  IT 75,  Tim  Murphy,  of  Captain  Parr's 
Company,  killed  and  scalped  his  twenty-third  red- 
skin, it  was  a  signal  for  a  general  celebration.  Later, 
when  Indians  became  scarce,  the  humane  Maclay,  for 
whom  the  politicians  secured  an  $11,000  momiment, 
proposed  'that  they  be  hunted  down  with  bloodhounds. 

Captain  Goheen  was  a  very  handsome  young  man, 
splendidly  educated  in  England  and  France,  and  heir 
to  a  vast  fortune  and  immense  landed  estates.  Like 
most  of  his  class,  he  espoused  a  military  career,  cut- 
ting a  fine  figure  in  his  shako  and  sword,  as  shown  in 
Duche's  portrait,  still  in  the  possession  of  his  descend- 
ants. Previous  to  this  journey  he  had  never  been 
west  of  the  Conewago  Hills,  let  alone  in  the  No  Man's 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  201 


Land  beyond  Harris'  Ferry.  It  was  a  wonderful 
trip  for  him,  through  vast  and  gloomy  forests,  over 
steep  mountains  and  rushing  streams ;  it  seemed  like 
going  to  the  end  of  the  world.  He  had  tarried  at  the 
military  post  at  Harris'  Ferry  long  enough  for  word 
to  be  sent  to  Peter  Allen's  that  he  was  coming  with 
his  entourage,  consequently  all  was  in  readiness  when 
he  dismounted  from  hi^  handsome  iron  gray  stallion. 

The  living,  room  on  the  ground  floor  had  been  set 
apart  for  his  exclusive  use,  a  roaring  fire  was  in  the 
huge  fireplace,  a  pot  of  tea  steamed  on  the  crane, 
some  chestnuts  were  roasting  in  an  alcove  of  the 
inglenook. 

The  young  Captain  was  gratified  at  this  show  of 
respect  in  the  outposts  of  civilization,  so  he  stood  be- 
fore the  flaming  logs  unbuttoning  his  military  great 
coat,  for  the  day  had  been  more  like  January  than 
November,  with  a  biting  wind  off  the  river.  He  re- 
called the  legend  that  in  this  same  room  John  Penn 
was  wont  to  meet  Maria  Cox,  his  peasant-born  wife, 
from  whom  he  had  been  separated  by  his  aristocratic 
relations,  and  who  followed  him  to  America,  only  to 
be  again  discarded  for  a  new  wife  of  his  own  class, 
the  daughter  of  the  Chief  Justice.  Mrs.  Barbara 
Schwartz — her  husband  was  a  soldier  in  the  Revo- 
lutionary War — who  was  the  chief  cook  and  house- 
keeper for  the  young  members  of  the  Allen  fam- 
ily, knocked  and  entered.  Rowing  low  with  the 
respect  she  had  learned  as  a  girl  in  Alsace,  she  ex- 
plained that  she  had  forgotten  to  take  away  the  skin 


202  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

of  a  I  Mack  Cat  which  had  been  left  to  dry  in  the 
Dutch  oven  by  the  fireplace. 

As  she  opened  the  small  iron  door,  her  hands  cov- 
erd  by  her  apron,  the  Captain  with  well-bred  curiosity 
inquired  what  a  Black  Cat  might  be,  for  he  was  clever 
enough  to  infer  that  the  animal  in  question  was  not 
the  regular  old-time  domestic  tabby. 

A  Black  Cat,  explained  Mrs.  Schwartz,  in  her  best 
broken  English,  was  a  fur-bearing-animal  about  the 
size  of  a  fox,  which  was  very,  plentiful  in  the  pine 
forests  on  the  mountain  above  the  stone  house ;  that 
its  fur  was  highly  regarded  by  the  mountain  people, 
that  she  wanted  to  get  together  enough  furs  to  make 
a  cape  for  her  youngest  daughter,  Elizabeth,  who  was 
soon  to  marry  a  prosperous  settler,  who  resided  on 
the  Christunn,  about  forty  miles  further  up  the  river. 

The  woman  handed  the  fur  to  the  officer.  Certainly 
it  was  very  pretty,  he  thought,  as  he  ran  his  fingers 
through  the  long,  smooth  hairs,  but  what  would  any- 
body living  so  far  from  all  creation  as  forty  miles 
further  up  the  river  want  with  anything  so  luxurious 
as  a  fur  cape !  It  was  an  ornament  for  gentlewomen. 

His  curiosity  satisfied,  Mrs.  Schwartz  withdrew, 
leaving  the  distinguished  guest  to  amuse  himself  as 
best  he  could  until  the  arrival  of  the  Rangers.  There 
were  other  souvenirs  of  the  wild  life  of  the  adjacent 
mountains  in  the  long,  high  ceilinged  room.  He  found 
that  he  was  standing  on  a  rug  made  from  the  hide 
of  a  panther,  though  the  head  was  missing.  It  must 
have  measured  nine  or  ten  feet  from  throat  to  tip  of 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  203 


tail ;  it  was  the  first  Pennsylvania  lion's  pelt  that  he 
had  ever  seen  and  it  interested  him  mightily.  There 
were  several  magnificent  buffalo  robes,  very  dark  in 
color,  the  hair  crisp  and  curly,  thrown  across  the 
four-poster  bed.  The  horns  of  a  shovel-horn  buck, 
palmated  much  as  were  the  fallow  bucks  in  English 
Parks  where  he  had  visited,  were  nailed  above  the 
mantel  shelf.  As  a  dust-brush,  on  a  hook  by  the 
fireplace,  hung  several  wings  of  paroquets ;  the  soot 
had  tarnished  the  gaudy  green  plumage  somewhat. 
They  had  been  killed  from  a  flock  which,  tried  to  rav- 
age a  corn-shock  just  back  of  the  house  the  winter 
before. 

His  sporting  instincts  pleased  by  this  modest  dis- 
play of  hunting  trophies,  the  young  man  passed  an 
hour  until  a  knock  on  the  door  announced  his  pay- 
master. Sergeant  Andrew  ( )'Kane.  The  paymaster 
was  an  Irish  youth  of  good  family,  but  for  some 
reason  or  other  did  not  hold  a  commission,  his  clerical 
abilities  having  side-tracked,  as  it  were,  his  military 
advancement.  Me  came  to  announce  the  arrival  of 
Lieutenant  Michael  Grove,  of  the  Rangers,  his  or- 
derlv  and  bodyguard. 

Captain  Goheen  smiled  condescendingly.  The  idea 
of  a  rough  frontiersman  who  scalped  Indians  for  the 
bounty  to  travel  with  the  same  military  aides  as  him- 
self, who  had  learned  the  art  of  war  from  an  Aide- 
de-Camp  of  Frederick  the  Great.  I>ut  Captain 
Goheen  was  interested  to  meet  this  noted  backwoods 
figure,  so  he  ordered  the  paymaster  to  bid  him  enter. 


204  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


O'Kane  explained  that  Lieutenant  Grove  wished  his 
orderly  to  come  with  him,  that  the  orderly  kept  the 
accounts  and  could  perhaps  explain  them  better  than 
he  was  able  to  do.  Captain  Goheen  nodded  that  the 
orderly  might  be  admitted. 

The  Paymaster  opened  the  door  wide,  and  Lieu- 
tenant Grove  strode  in  and  saluted.  Certainly  he  was 
a  curious  looking  person.  He  was  young  and  not 
very  tall  or  very  straight,  his  black  hair  was  worn 
long,  it  fell  over  his  shoulders,  his  narrow  chin  was 
hidden  under  a  heavy  dark  beard,  his  nose  was  hook- 
ed, his  deep  set  eyes  were  very  black,  giving  him  the 
expression  of  a  hawk ;  he  was  noted  for  the  keenness 
of  his  sight,  and  could  travel  in  the  dark  as  well  a's  by 
daylight,  even  when  seventy  years  of  age.  He  was 
dressed  in  a  suit  of  buckskin,  with  gilt  buttons  of  the 
King  George  pattern ;  several  cartridge  belts  were 
about  his  waist,  he  carried  a  long  knife  in  a  sheath,  his 
legs  and  feet  were  encased  in  leggins  and  moccasins. 

To  Captain  Goheen  he  typified  the  savage,  the 
primitive  man,  the  Indian,  but  when  he  spoke  it  was 
with  a  Dutch  accent,  for  his  parents  were  of  Hol- 
landish  stock,  the  name  had  been  originally  Op  den 
Graeff,  when  the  first  bearers  of  the  name  in  Penn- 
sylvania signed  the  immortal  protest  against  Negro 
slavery  April  IS,  168S. 

Captain  Goheen  soon  saw  that  the  bearded  frontiers- 
man was  no  ruffian,  that  he  had  a  fine  sense  of  the 
proprieties,  in  other  words,  knew  his  position.  Then 
the  Captain's  eyes  drifted  to  the  orderly  who  stood 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  205 


by  the  Lieutenant's  shoulder.  A  tall,  very  slim  youth, 
still  in  his  teens,  he  seemed  to  be,  with  a  delicate  oval 
face,  aquiline  nose  that  turned  up  a  trifle  too  much 
at  the  end  to  be  truly  masculine,  eyes  very  black  and 
very  restless,  much  soft,  dark,  wavy  hair  and  a  com- 
plexion like  old  ivory.  The  orderly,  too,  was  dressed 
in  a  buckskin  suit,  the  coat  hooked  close  under  the 
chin,  but  without  the  brass  buttons ;  the  long  slim 
legs  were  encased  in  buckskin  leggings  and  on-  the 
small  feet  were  red  leather  moccasins.  A  strange 
looking  person,  thought  Captain  Goheen,  very  effemi- 
nate looking,  very  youthful,  too  mild  for  the  rough 
life  of  an  Indian  killer. 

He  was  further  amazed  when  the  orderly,  in  low, 
gentle  tones,  read  the  long  vellum  record  of  Indian 
butcheries,  producing  in  every  instance  the  horrid 
scalp  from  a  leather  knapsack,  to  match  each  recorded 
designation.  It  was  a  terrible,  bloodcurdling  recital 
from  beginning  to  end,  and  the  candles  were  lighted 
long  before  the  last  scalp  had  been  verified,  and  the 
payments  turned  over  to  Lieutenant  Grove  by  Ser- 
geant O'Kane.  When  the  business  was  finished  the 
Lieutenant  and  the  orderly  withdrew,  leaving  the 
Captain  and  the  Paymaster  with  a  pile  of  scalps  to 
dispose  of  as  best  they  could. 

Soon  after  they  had  taken  their  leave  Mrs. 
Schwartz  came  in  to  ask  the  Captain  if  he  was  ready 
to  have  his  supper  served  in  the  room.  Instantly  the 
young  man,  as  if  divining  some  mystery,  asked  the 
woman  concerning  the  identity  of  Lieutenant  Grove's 


206  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


Orderly.  The  woman  smiled  broadly ;  then  she  came 
close  and  whispered : 

''Your  honor,  that  Orderly  is  Loverhill,  the  Indian 
Killer.  She  is  a  girl,  Genevieve  Loverhill.  She 
comes  from  the  Karoondinha,  fifty  miles  up  the  river. 
They  say  she  became  infatuated  with  Lieutenant 
Grove ;  her  parents  could  do  nothing  with  her ;  she 
followed  him  to  the  forests,  and  he  had  to  enlist  her 
tr  prevent  her  from  killing  herself.  She  is  the  worst 
Indian  butcher  in  the  Rangers;  she  is  absolutely  with- 
out mercy  and  without  fear.  They  tell  it  that  she  has 
one  hundred  notches  on  her  rifle." 

Captain  Goheen  was  amazed.  He  felt  rather  queer- 
ly.  but  he  asked  no  more  questions.  He  did  not  eat 
much  supper,  even  his  favorite  Madeira  did  not  taste 
good.  He  never  noticed  the  piece  dc  resistance,  a 
roast  wild  turkey  poult,  stuffed  with  acorns  and  chest- 
nuts. He  felt  very  restless  and  ill  at  ease.  Perhaps 
it  was  due  to  the  pile  of  ill-smelling  filthy  scalps  which 
were  still  on  the  panther  rug  by  the  table  where  he 
sat.  At  any  rate  he  got  up  and  hurriedly  left  the 
room,  the  best  of  his  carefully  prepared  supper  tin- 
tasted. 

I  Jack  in  the  kitchen  Lieutenant  Grove  and  most  of 
his  party  were  seated  about  the  huge  fireplace.  To 
add  incongruity  to  the  scene  there  was  an  enormous 
Indian — he  must  have  been  over  seven  feet  tall,  with 
a  shaven  head,  beady  eyes  and  long  mustaches — 
seated  on  a  bench  .beside  Sergeant  O'Kane,  the  two 
smoking  their  pipes  and  conversing  together,  not  an 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  207 


arm's  length  from  the  bloodthirstiest  band  of  scalp 
hunters  in  all  of  Penn's  Woods. 

Captain  Goheen  scanned  the  faces  of  the  Rangers. 
Loverhill,  as  they  called  her,  was  not  among  them. 
When  the  motley  group  saw  the  Captain  they  all  rose 
and  saluted  and  O'Kane  approached  him  and  whis- 
pered that  the  Indian,  Long  John,  who  lived  about 
thirty  miles  up  the  river,  had  something  to  show  him. 
It  was  a  cape  made  from  the  furs  of  a  dozen  especially 
choice  Black  Cats  ;  he  wanted  a  pound  for  it ;  he  had 
it  in  a  sack  outside  the  house;  should  he  send  him 
for  it  ? 

"No,"  repiled  the  Captain,  "it  is  very  warm  in 
here.  I  will  go  out  and  see  it." 

He  was  amazed  at  the  height  of  the  Indian,  who 
had  to  stoop  as  he  went  through  the  door.  As  they 
filed  out,  O'Kane  explained  that  Long  John  was  a 
friendly  Indian  whom  the  Rangers  permitted  to  re- 
main at  his  home  in  return  for  valuable  information 
obtained  from  him,  that  he  was  hated  by  the  other 
Indians  as  much  as  the  Rangers  liked  him  ;  that  he 
was  seven  feet  tall.  His  grave,  discernible  today  close 
by  Herold's  school  house,  across  the  Susquehanna 
from  the  town  of  Herndon,  amply  proves  this  state- 
ment. \  taller  Indian,  known  ac  l>ig  John,  in  an 
eight  foot  grave,  res'ls  in  a  corner  of  the  old  Presby- 
terian church  yard  at  Jacksonville,  Centre  County.  It 
surely  was  an  age  of  giants  ! 

Outside  the  air  was  crisp  and  bity  cold,  in  the  words 
of  the  old  French  song,  ''The  Heavens  were  bright. 


208  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


the  stars  were  shining,"  several  dogs  began  to  bark. 
When  Captain  Goheen's  eyes  became  accustomed  to  the 
starlight,  he  noticed  a  figure  seated  quietly  on  a  bench 
against  the  house.  Moving  a  step  closer,  he  could 
see  that  it  was  Loverhill,  the  Indian  Killer.  He  did 
not  lose  time  in  closing  the  bargain  for  the  cape  with 
Long  John.  The  Paymaster  counted  out  the  money, 
the  big  Indian  went  to  a  shed  where  the  sheep  bells 
were  tinkling,  to  get  some  sleep  in  the  hay ;  O'Kane 
discreetly  went  indoors. 

With  the  cape  on  his  arm,  Captain  Goheen  ap- 
proached the  girl  seated  so  quietly  on  the  bench  with 
her  back  against  the  stone  house,  smoking  a  short 
pipe  and  looking  out  at  the  stars. 

"Good  evening,"  he  said,    in  his  courtliest  tones. 

The  girl  got  up  reluctantly,  taking  the  clay  pipe  from 
her  mouth  and  knocking  out  the  ashes  against  the 
settee. 

''Pray  do  not  let  me  disturb  you,"  said  the  Captain, 
motioning  her  back  to  the  bench.  She  sat  down  again 
without  a  word.  Then  he  told  her  that  he  had  heard 
that  she  was  a  girl,  a  great  Indian  killer,  and  of -won- 
derful assistance  to  all  the  Rangers,  including  Cap- 
tain Peter  Grove,  Captain  Peter  Pentz  and  Lieuten- 
ant Michael  Grove.  The  girl  still  made  no  reply. 
Then  he  handed  her  the  cape  made  from  the  furs  of 
the  dozen  selected  Black  Cats,  the  prospective  envy  of 
the  mountain  girls.  Rut  she  refused  it,  as  a  man 
would  have  done  on  receiving  a  gift  of  feminine 
apparel. 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  209 


"It  would  be  of  no  use  to  me,"  she  said,  "I  always 
go  about  as  a  boy.  I  have  no  place  for  finery,  no 
one  I  could  give  it  to."  But  she  was  not  rude  or  dis- 
tant. Her  manner  was  so  reassuring  that  Captain 
Goheen,  forgetting  military  discipline,  sat  down  be- 
side her.  They  seemed  naturally  congenial.  Their 
talk,  made  easy  by  a  hidden  bond  of  sympathy,  be- 
came very  personal  as  time  went  on.  The  young 
officer,  influenced  no  doubt  by  the  beauty  at  his  side 
and  the  weird  romance  of  the  place,  confessed  that  a 
strange  thrill  had  gone  through  him  after  he  had 
seen  her,  that  she  must  abondon  her  life  as  a  scalp 
hunter  and  come  to  Carlisle  or  York  or  Philadelphia, 
where  her  beauty  and  personality  would  be  appre- 
ciated. 

"For  no  matter  who  you  are,"  he  said,  "you  are 
a  lady.  Your  place  is  among  persons  of  talent  and 
refinement,  and  not  here,  perhaps  in  the  end  to  be 
scalped  like  the  savages  you  have  been  slaying." 

Genevieve  folded  her  long,  thin  arms  and  leaned 
her  head  against  the  wall,  looking  up  at  the  moon, 
which  had  risen  above  Peter's  Mountain  and  was  now 
shining  clear  and  silvery  on  the  waters  of  Claik's 
Creek,  in  the  vale  below. 

"T.  too,  had  a  strange  feeling  tonight,"  she  said. 
"P>ut  I  had  a  thrill  once  before  when,  as  a  small  girl. 
I  first  saw  Michael  Grove  counting  scalps  at  my  fath- 
er's camp  on  Switzer  Run,  I  said  to  myself,  'I  will  fol- 
low that  man  to  the  ends  of  the  earth,'  and  T  did,  mak- 
ing myself  an  outlaw  with  my  family  for  him,  shedding 


210  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


Indian  blood  incessantly  to  please  him,  for  he  has  al- 
ways been  so  gentle  and  kind.  But  tonight,"  she  con- 
tinued, "I  felt  another  thrill  a  thousand  times  as  strong 
and  oh.  so  beautiful,  and  a  clearer  voice  within  me  said, 
'I  would  follow  that  man  to  the  ends  of  the  earth.' 
That  is  why  I  came  out  here  to  reason  it  out  with  the 
stars,  for  it  was  all  so  very  foolish.  I  have  made  my 
place  in  life;  I  must  follow  it  as  long  as  there  is  an 
Indian  left  to  kill.  I  could  not  vow  the  same  regard- 
ing two  men.  Here  I  am  Loverhill,  of  the  Rangers ; 
in  Carlise  I  would  be  'Genevieve  Loverhill,  arch-mur- 
deress,' a  black-hearted  fiend  for  indignant  Quakers 
tc  make  an  example  of.  I  will  stay  where  my  destiny 
has  placed  me — to  the  end." 

Captain  Goheen,  overcome  with  emotion,  tried  to 
take  her  in  his  arms,  but  she  drew  away. 

''Can  I  not  come  into  your  world  in  the  wilderness? 
I  own  vast  tracts  of  land  all  over  these  mountains ; 
we  can  settle  in  some  remote  valley  of  the  South 
Mountains,  where  I  hear  it  is  so  lovely,  and  make  a1 
home  away  from  the  civilized  standards  which  you1 
think  would  condemn  you.  I  would  be  happy  with  you 
anywhere/' 

Genevieve  shook  her  small  head  with  its  masses  of 
soft,  wavy  dark  hair.  '  I  am  sure  that  I  truly  love 
you,  but  I  have  told  you  that  early  in  life  I  vowed  I 
would  go  to  the  ends  of  the  world  with  Lieutenant 
Grove.  I  have  done  my  duty  to  him  ;  I  will  do  so  to 
the  end,  even  though  tonight,  by  seeing-  you,  I  feel 
that  I  am  condemned  eternallv  as  a  murderess  and  a 


211 


fiend.  If  I  told  you  of  the  Indian  women  and  chil- 
dren I  have  killed  you  would  think  I  was  the  devil 
in  the  form  of  a  girl.  You  would  hate  me  at  the  sight 
of  the  first  Indian  widow.  It  can  never  he.  Yon 
may  kiss  me  and  leave  me  alone  to  make  my  prayer 
to  the  stars." 

Captain  Goheen  put  his  arms  around  her  and 
twined  her  long  fingers  in  his.  She  leaned  against 
him  while  he  kissed  her  waxen  face  and  red  full  lips 
time  and  time  again.  The  moon  had  heen  shining 
through  the  old  yellow  pines  on  the  comb  of  Short 
Mountain  and  lighting  up  the  sculptured  outlines  of 
*Jhe  King's  Stool  on  Magilligan's  Rocks,  now  was 
going  down,  having  completed  the  circuit  of  Orion. 
A  few  glimmering  rays  of  starlight  shone  on  the  tall 
silvery  trunks  of  the  girdled  original  white  pines  on 
the  far  side  of  Clark's  Creek. 

When  he  went  indoors  only  Mrs.  Schwartz  sat  by 
the  inglenook ;  all  of  the  others,  even  Lieutenant 
Grove,  had  gone  upstairs.  The  old  woman  stood  up 
deferentially  and  curtsied.  As  he  passed  her  he  gal- 
lantly presented  her  with  the  cape  made  from  the 
furs  of  the  Dlack  Cat  taken  by  Long  John. 

"Give  thai  to  your  daughter  Elizabeth  for  her  wed- 
ding with  mv  blessing." 

"Oh,  thank  you  .sir,  thank  you  so  much,  sir.  God 
bless  you.  sir.  It  will  be  my  daughter's  grandest 
gift,"  echoed  the  woman  as  he  closed  the  door.  Cap- 
tain Goheen  did  not  take  time  to  light  a  rushlight ; 
there  was  still  fire  on  the  hearth,  and  only  partially 


212  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

undressing,  he  threw  himself  on  the  bed,  among  the 
dark,  curly  buffalo  robes. 

It  was  broad  daylight  when  he  awoke.  He  was 
feeling  very  ill.  He  had  neglected  to  open  the  win- 
dow, that  was  the  reason.  As  he  jumped  out  of  bed 
his  feet  rested  on  something  damp  and  hairy.  It  was 
the  pile  of  scalps  left  there  by  Lieutenant  Michael 
Grove  and  his  Orderly  the  evening  before.  Lifting 
them  up  with  the  flat  side  of  his  sabre,  as  a  farmer 
would  a  nest  of  caterpillars,  he  placed  the  horrible 
trophies  in  the  Dutch  oven  and  closed  the  door.  It 
was  proper  that  into  the  recesses  from  which  had 
come  the  Black  Cat's  fur  the  sym'bol  of  his  brief 
romance  with  Loverhill,  of  the  Rangers,  should  go 
these  ghastly  reminders  of  her  prowess  in  the  forests. 

Hurriedly  dressing,  the  young  officer  went  to  the 
kitchen.  Paymaster  O'Kane  was  there  and  Mrs. 
Schwartz,  who  was  stirring  a  rabbit  pudding.  Lieu- 
tenant Grove  and  his  crew,  Long  John  and  Loverhill, 
the  Indian  killer,  had  departed  before  daybreak,  he 
was  told.  It  was  all  like  some  fantastic  dream. 


XVI.    The  Squaw  Man 

PETER  ALLEX,  Colonial  inn  keeper  and  historic 
character,  was  uncle  to  one  Francis  Allen, 
who  moved  from  the  Macha  Hills,  now  called 
Pigeon  Hills,  to  the  mouth  of  Buffalo  Creek,  about 
1T7-").  He  was  an  industrious,  capable  young  man, 
who  hid  fair  to  prosper  in  his  new  home  on  the 
frontier.  He  was  married  to  a  wife  from  the  Little 
Conewago,  as  industrious  as  himself,  and  they  had 
three  small  children.  Indian  affairs  were  very  un- 
settled at  the  beginning  of  1T80;  many  massacres, 
more  or  less  exaggerated,  were  reported  from  distant 
points,  but  they  struck  near  home  when  on  the 
eighteenth  of  May,  "French  Jacob"  Groshong's  mill, 
near  the  head  of  Buffalo  Creek,  was  raided  by  the 
redmen  and  four  of  its  white  defenders  slain. 

Disasters  such  as  this  seldom  come  singly,  for  on 
the  fourteenth  of  July  the  peaceable  home  of  the 
Allen  family  at  the  mouth  of  the  Creek  was  invaded, 
the  husband  and  father  was  cruelly  shot  down  in 
his  corn  field,  the  mother  and  one  boy  escaped,  one 
other  son,  Peter,  named  for  his  illustrious  uncle,  was 
captured,  while  the  baby  was  snatched  from  its  cradle, 
swung  around  by  the  feet  of  one  of  the  angry  red- 
skins and  brained  on  the  doorstep. 

Peter,  the  captive,  was  six  years  old  at  the  time 
of  the  tragedy.  He  was  hurried  off  into  the  forest 
by  the  Indians  and  nothing  was  heard  of  him  for 
more  than  twenty  years.  The  unfortunate  mother 

213 


214  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


and  her  remaining  child,  who  was  four  years  old,  re- 
turned to  her  girlhood  home  near  Carlisle,  where  she 
never  ceased  grieving  over  the  loss  of  her  husband, 
son  and  girl  baby.  The  escape  of  the  four-year-old 
boy  was  little  short  of  miraculous.  When  he  saw 
the  Indians  coming  he  ran  towards  the  bank  of  the 
creek,  ducking  among  some  tall  reeds,  where  he  lay 
until  the  danger  was  past.  When  his  mother,  accom- 
panied by  a  posse  of  neighbors,  returned  to  recover 
the  bodies,  the  tiny  child  crawled  up  the  bank  and 
ran  to  them  safe  and  sound.  The  mother's  escape 
was  fortuitous.  She  was  sitting  on  a  stump  fence 
knitting  under  the  shade  of  a  big  oak,  while  her 
husband  worked  the  corn,  the  season  was  a  late  one, 
when  she  saw  the  redmen  approaching.  Before  they 
saw  her  she  was  over  the  fence  and  running  for  "dear 
life"  to  secure  help.  She  knew  that  her  husband, 
who  worked  with  his  heavy  rifle  slung  across  his 
shoulder,  would  start  for  the  house  to  protect  the 
little  ones.  When  she  came  back  with  the  band  of 
indignant  settlers,  all  was  over  so  far  as  her  happi- 
ness was  concerned.  Her  husband  lay  scalped  where 
he  had  fallen,  trying  to  rescue  the  baby  from  her  tor- 
turers, the  oldest  boy  was  gone,  there  was  no  one  to 
tell  her  where,  for  the  little  fellow  who  was  left  had 
bin  flat  among  the  rushes  too  frightened  to  notice 
anything;  he  could  recall  only  the  rattle  of  the 
musketry  and  the  fiendish  scalp  ''halloo."  The 
stricken  mother  was  on  the  verge  of  insanity  for  a 
long  time. 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  215 


The  strong  men  who  had  accompanied  her  to  the 
scene  of  the  attack  were  moved  to  tears  by  her 
affliction.  I'nt  when  she  gradually  came  back  to 
normal  condition,  she  was  very  thankful  to  have  the 
little  boy,  Francis,  Jr.,  although  he  resembled  hei, 
being  light-haired  and  blue-eyed,  more  than  his  dark- 
haired  and  Indian-featured  father.  Little  Peter,  the 
missing  child,  was  the  living  image  of  his  father.  He 
not  only  looked  like  him,  but  acted  like  him  ;  he  was 
a  veritable  reproduction  in  miniature.  Though  the 
mother  could  never  get  over  her  gratitude  that  one 
child  had  been  spared  to  her,  she  often  wished  openly 
that  the  little  one  had  been  Peter,  so  that  in  him  she 
could  gaze  into  the  likeness  of  her  martyred  husband, 
whom  she  loved  so  well. 

She  remained  true  to  his  memory,  never  marrying 
again,  though  she  had  several  offers  that  were  con- 
sidered excellent  for  the  frontier.  Her  mind  was 
focused  on  the  past  and  the  beloved  dead  and  the 
cherished  hope  of  some  day  recovering  her  long-lost 
and  favorite  offspring,  Little  Peter.  After  a  time 
her  husband's  brother.  Patrick  Allen,  moved  to  the 
homestead  at  the  mouth  of  Ikiffalo  Creek,  ultimately 
persuading  the  young  widow  to  return  there  to  act 
as  housekeeper.  He  was  a  widower  with  hve  small 
children,  and  this  new  responsibility  did  much  to 
divert  the  unfortunate  woman  from  thinking  too 
much  of  her  sorrows. 

The  day  of  Indian  atrocities  was  passing,  a  more 
tolerant  attitude  between  the  two  races  existed,  and 


216  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


old  feuds  were  so  thoroughly  forgotten  that  often 
Indians  like  Capain  Logan,  Long  John,  Job  Chillavvay 
and  John  Goodaway  were  entertained  over  night  by 
Patrick  Allen  and  his  household,  and  it  was  thought 
to  be  nothing  remarkable. 

Young  Francis  Allen  was  fond  of  hunting  from 
his  earliest  youth.  He  was  a  crack  shot;  when  he 
was  ten  he  was  able  to  hit  innumerable  "dippers"  in 
the  river  during  the  Spring  floods,  and  many  a  loon 
fell  before  his  well-judged  aim.  He  was  a  trapper 
as  well  and  once  caught  a  big  wild  cat  on  his  "line," 
which  extended  across  the  wooded  hill  to  the  north 
of  his  abode.  As  he  grew  older  he  carried  his  shoot- 
ing operations  to  Jack's  Mountains,  killing  numerous 
deer,  and  so  marked  became  his  success  that  he  went 
every  Fall  to  the  Alleghenies  or  the  North  Mountains 
in  quest  of  elk.  These  splendid  animals,  which  were 
found  in  the  hills  about  Sunbury  in  the  days  of 
Shikellemus,  were  gradually  being  found  further  in 
the  wilderness  as  a  result  of  the  persecutions  of  the 
white  hunters. 

It  was  during  the  fall  of  1800,  more  than  twenty 
years  after  the  sanguinary  tragedy  in  the  Allen  family, 
that  a  party  consisting  of  Patrick  Allen,  his  son,  Fred- 
erick, and  his  nephew,  Francis  Allen,  with  an 
old  Indian  named  Dagonondo  as  cook,  wended  their 
way  to  the  Elklands,  as  the  extreme  hinterland  of 
the  North  Mountain  was  called.  A  camp  was  estab- 
lished on  Elk  Creek,  which  must  not  be  confused  with 
Elk  Run  .also  in  what  is  now  Sullivan  County,  and  a 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  217 

systematic  drive  through  portions  of  the  wilderness 
seldom  visited  by  the  white  hunters  commenced. 

Rumors  of  elk  on  the  northern  slope  of  the  main 
chain  of  Allegheny  Mountains  led  them  to  remove 
the  base  of  operations  to  the  vicinity  of  Elk  Lake. 
Dagonondo,  while  out  reconnoitering,  he  was  of  an 
inquisitive  disposition,  happened  into  an  encampment 
of  redmen,  on  the  north  shore  of  the  lake.  He  was 
well  received  by  his  fellow  Indians  and  asked  to  invite 
his  white  principals  to  partake  of  an  elk  barbecue 
the  next  evening,  for  luck  was  all  with  the  Indian 
marksmen  on  that  occasion.  As  the  Allen  party  had 
not  seen  a  trace  of  an  elk,  they  were  glad  to  accept 
the  courteous  invitation. 

The  Indians  came  for  them  in  birch-bark  canoes 
which  swiftly  carried  them  across  the  rippling  water? 
of  the  beautiful  mountain  lake  along  which  grew  the 
dense  virgin  forests  of  hemlock  and  hardwoods.  It 
was  about  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  when  the 
members  of  the  Allen  family  arrived  at  the  scene  of 
the  barbecue.  The  mellow  golden  light  brought  oui 
the  rich  tints  of  the  woodlands  and  cast  sombre 
shadows  on  the  placid  waters.  In  single  file  the 
Indians  were  arriving  at  the  camp  ground.  It  seemed 
as  if  every  redman  at  large  in  Northern  Pennsylvania 
was  to  partake  of  the  feast.  As  it  was  they  outnum- 
bered the  white  guests  twenty  to  one,  and  if  evilly 
disposed  could  have  made  short  work  of  the  pal? 
faces  in  their  midst. 

But  one  and  all  were  cordiality  itself,  vicing  with 


218  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


one  another  to  make  the  guests  of  honor  feel  com- 
pletely at  home.  The  carcasses  of  two  elks  had  been 
roasting  over  a  slow  fire  since  morning,  the  steam 
being  retained  by  a  thick  covering  of  hemlock  boughs, 
though  enough  of  the  savory  odors  exuded  to  whet 
the  appetites  of  Indians  and  white  men  alike. 
Among  the  Indians  Patrick  Allen  noticed  a  tall  youth 
who  bore  a  striking  resemblance  to  his  murdered 
brother,  Francis. 

The  young  hunter  was  of  swarthy  complexion,  but 
lacked  the  coppery  hue  so  characteristic  of  the  full- 
blooded  "sons  of  the  forest."  His  hair  was  black  and 
was  worn  very  long,  and  from  his  ears  were  sus- 
pended rings  of  coral-colored  beads.  On  close  exam- 
ination it  could  be  noticed  that  his  deepset  eyes  were 
blue,  though  they  shone  dark  beneath  the  heavy  black 
brows  and  lashes.  The  young  man  wore  a  buckskin 
suit  and  cap  and  carried  a  long  rifle.  He  kept  his 
eyes  on  the  white  men,  but  made  no  attempt  to  enter 
into  a  conversation.  The  thought  flashed  through 
Patrick  Allen's  mind  that  the  young  "Indian"  could 
be  no  other  than  his  nephew,  Peter  Allen,  kidnapped 
by  the  marauding  redmen  at  the  mouth  of  Buffalo 
Creek  twenty  years  before.  He  sidled  up  to  the 
youth  and  began  questioning  him.  At  first  the  young 
hunter  was  monosyllabic  in  his  answers,  but  grad- 
ually, by  giving  him  a  "pull"  or  two  out  of  his  flask 
of  spirits  and  by  dilating  on  the  loneliness  and  long- 
ings of  the  bereaved  mother,  he  admitted  his  identity 
But  he  quickly  added  that  he  was  entirely  satisfied 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  219 


with  his  treatment  by  the  Indians,  he  had  no  desire  to 
leave  them. 

After  he  had  been  carried  away  as  a  boy  of  six 
years,  he  had  followed  the  declining  fortunes  of  the 
band  until,  after  a  series  of  defeats,  they  had  capitu- 
lated and  accepted  a  domicile  on  die  reservations  in 
Cattaraugus  County,  New  York.  From  there  th°y 
made  hunting  trips  into  Pennsylvaiia  every  Spring  and 
Fall,  following  up  the  remaining  elk  herds  wherever 
they  knew  them  to  be.  He  had  been  adopted  by  an 
Indian  family  and,  when  in  a  fight  with  some  white 
hunters  six  years  previously,  his  foster  brother  had 
been  slain,  he  inherited  the  chiefship  and  married  the 
chief's  young  widow.  She  had  one  child  by  her  first 
husband,  and  since  then  three  more  children  had 
been  born.  They  were  all  now  on  the  reservation. 

Patrick  Allen  stuck  close  to  his  newly-found 
nephew  during  the  barbecue  and  before  it  was  over 
secured  from  him  the  promise  to  take  him  and  his 
new-found  brother  Francis,  to  visit  the  squaw  and 
her  little  ones  at  the  reservation  on  the  Ohe-yu.  To 
make  sure  that  the  wily  self-constituted  Indian 
would  not  give  them  the  slip  during  the  night,  the 
Aliens  bivouaced  with  him.  In  the  morning  Patrick 
Allen's  son  was  sent  homeward  to  give  the  glad  tid- 
ings to  the  patient  mother  that  her  son  had  been 
found.  In  the  morning  Peter  Allen,  or  Peter 
"Strong."  as  the  Indians  called  him — his  foster  father 
was  the  noted  chieftain.  Captain  Strong — was  in  a 
glum  and  sullen  mood.  The  liquor  had  worn  off  and 


220  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


with  it  the  sentimentality  about  the  reunion  with  his 
mother.  He  was  clearly  opposed  to  leaving  his  Indian 
hunting  colleagues  in  the  middle  of  the  big  elk  hunt 
and  returning  to  the  reservation.  But  Patrick  Allen 
and  young  Francis  were  forceful  characters,  and  lit- 
erally compelled  him  to  live  up  to  the  agreement 
which  he  had  entered  into  the  night  previously. 

If  he  had  not  been  a  sub-chief  and  of  high  ran*. 
among  the   tribe,   his   declaration   that   he   was 


home  would  have  been  received  in  even  worse  grace 
than  it  was.  As  it  was,  there  was  much  grunting  and 
groaning  when  he  announced  his  intention.  Clearly 
he  was  one  of  the  best  shots  in  the  party  and  his  ab- 
sence would  hamper  the  success  of  the  expedition 
At  length  all  was  explained  and  arranged  and  the 
Aliens  and  their  unwilling  relative  started  on  the  long 
journey  to  the  reservation.  They  were  nearly  a  week 
getting  there.  With  each  successive  day  "Peter 
Strong"  became  more  despondent  and  uncommunica- 
tive. It  was  not  that  he  disliked  the  idea  of  seeing 
his  mother,  of  whom  he  was  fond  and  whom  he  had 
not  forgotten,  but  he  did  not  want  to  leave  his  wife 
and  little  children. 

When  the  reservation  was  reached  the  white  men 
could  see  the  reasons  for  Peter's  attachment.  The 
Indian  wife,  who  went  by  the  extremely  odd  name 
of  Cherry  Wisdom,  was  most  attractive  to  behold 
and  the  children  were  bright  and  cunning.  She  was 
a  young  woman,  not  over  twenty-five,  with  a  com- 
plexion sallow  rather  than  copper-colored.  Her  figure 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  221 


was  slim,  and  she  was  above  the  medium  height.  Full 
face,  she  was  decidedly  pretty,  there  was  a  softness 
to  the  mold  of  her  features,  and  her  large  black  eyes 
with  eyeballs  blue-white,  and  long  lashes  and  smooth 
black  hair,  which  she  wore  parted  on  one  side,  all 
lent  a  charm  to  her  looks  that  was  indescribable.  But 
side  face  she  was  not  so  pretty,  the  aquiline  nose 
curved  too  low  over  the  lips,  there  was  too  decided 
a  set  to  the  jaw,  too  much  flatness  to  her  figure  to 
make  her  attractive  to  gaze  upon  in  analytic  mood. 
But  her  pleasant  manner  more  than  offset  any  pos- 
sible physical  defects. 

For  several  days  Peter  Strong  could  not  muster 
up  courage  enough  to  break  the  news  to  his  prett\ 
squaw  of  his  impending  visit  to  his  white  relations. 
At  length  he  did  so,  but  it  almost  broke  the  young 
woman's  heart. 

"I  will  never  see  you  again,  never  again,  never 
again,"  she  moaned  over  and  over,  as  she  crouched 
disconsolate  on  a  buffalo  hide  in  her  cabin. 

Peter  strove  to  reassure  her,  bringing  his  uncle 
and  brother  as  witnesses  to  prove  that  he  would  be 
back  in  four  moons.  Peter  lived  in  a  tiny  cabin  across 
the  path  from  where  Tod-Kah-Dohs,  notorious  as 
the  alleged  slayer  of  his  uncle,  James  Logan,  resided 
with  his  aged  father.  Captain  Logan,  then  over  eighty 
years  of  age.  Tod-Kah-Doh's  wife  was  the  aunt  of 
Peter's  wife,  so  she  took  the  case  before  The  Search- 
er, as  Tod-Kah-Dohs  was  generally  called.  He  op- 
posed Peter's  going  violently,  saying  that  it  was  a 


222  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


trick,  but  that  night  the  Aliens  plied  him  with  liquor, 
and  before  he  was  able  to  be  out  the  next  morning 
''Peter  Strong"  was  being  hurried  southward  by  his 
relatives.  Cherry  Wisdom  and  the  children  fol- 
lowed him  for  several  miles  along  the  forest  path, 
weeping  and  wailing;  the  young  squaw  was  discon- 
solate ;  evidently  she  had  a  premonition  that  she  would 
never  see  her  beloved  husband  again  .  At  every  step 
Peter  kept  telling  her  that  he  would  return,  but  she 
refused  to  be  convinced.  Her  last  words  were,  "You 
will  never  return  while  you  live." 

After  the  final  parting  the  poor  fellow,  torn  be- 
tween conflicting  duties,  remained  speechless,  moving 
along  in  mechanical  fashion,  until  he  came  to  the 
river  opposite  his  mother's  !\ome.  Patrick  had  sent 
word  with  his  son  that  when  they  reached  the  bank 
that  he  would  wave  a  red  shirt.  The  aged  mother 
was  watching  from  the  window  and  rushed  out  joy- 
ously, expectant.  She  sprang  into  the  dugout  with 
several  of  her  nephews  and  accompanied  the  long- 
lost  Peter  back  across  the  river.  Needless  to  say,  her 
greeting  with  the  rediscovered  son  was  most  affect- 
ing. Even  the  stoical  youth  showed  signs  of  emotion 
and  was  proud  when  told  of  his  exact  resemblance  to 
his  lamented  father. 

P>ut  even  on  the  night  of  his  arrival  he  talked 
about  returning  in  four  moons  to  his  Indian  family. 
Patrick  could  see  that  this  pained  the  doting  mother 
and  determined  to  thwart  any  intention  of  his  nephew 
to  be  reunited  with  Cherry  Wisdom  and  the  half-breed 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  223 


children.  He  was  kept  steadily  occupied  and  watched 
day  and  night.  Once  when  the  subject  of  his  remaining 
was  discussed,  he  flew  iiKo  a  rage  and  aimed  his  bow, 
letting  go  an  arrow  at  his  uncle,  narrowly  grazing 
his  forehead.  When  the  four  moons  were  up  his 
mother  plead  with  him  so  hard  that  he  weakened  and 
promised  to  remain  almost  until  Spring. 

When  in  February,  Captain  Harry  Green  and 
party,  whom  his  mother  had  known  at  New  Buffalo, 
were  murdered  by  New  York  State  Indians  in  the 
wild  glen  since  known  as  Green's  Gap,  in  Clinton 
County,  "Peter  Strong"  expressed  the  opinion  that 
the  Indians  were  on  his  trail  for  not  keeping  his 
promise  to  return  and  had  killed  the  Green  party — 
that  the  crime  was  committed  after  dark  and  by 
mistake.  After  that  he  showed  less  desire  to  return 
to  the  reservation,  believing  that  the  bloodthirsty  Tod- 
Kah-Dohs  would  have  him  murdered  for  not  keeping 
his  promise  to  be  back  in  four  moons. 

He  gradually  took  a  greater  interest  in  his  mother 
and  the  home  and  was  most  assiduous  in  doing  gar- 
den work  as  well  as  in  helping  to  clear  new  ground  in 
the  Spring.  Hut  had  he  known  the  duplicity  visited 
on  him  he  would  have  undoubtedly  bolted  for  the 
wilderness.  During  the  month  of  March,  when  the 
rains  pelted  down  unceasingly,  and  the  roads  were 
<•'.  sea  of  mud  and  all  Nature  looked  dismal  and  inhos- 
pitable, a  young  Indian  woman  made  her  appearance 
on  Buffalo  Creek  near  its  source  in  the  mountains. 
She  was  slender  and  comely,  but  her  large  dark  eyes 


224 


flashed  like  one  possessed.  From  every  person  she 
met,  and  at  every  cabin  where  she  stopped,  she  asked 
the  whereabouts  of  her  husband,  Peter  Strong. 
She  was  laboring  under  great  excitement,  as  she 
would  not  eat,  and  could  not  sleep.  At  George  Wilt's 
home,  near  the  entrance  to  the  Penn's  Valley  Nar- 
rows, afterwards  the  Stitzer  Tavern,  where  she  spent 
a  night,  she  sang  and  danced  in  the  kitchen  until 
morning.  Of  course,  her  dancing  was  due  to  hysteria, 
not  hilarity.  She  departed  without  breakfast  shortly 
before  the  family  appeared  for  morning  prayers. 
The  name  of  Peter  Strong  was  unknown  in  the  upper 
part  of  the  valley,  but  in  one  house  where  she  stopped 
over  night  the  story  of  Peter  Allen,  or  Peter  Strong, 
the  Squaw  Man,  was  known. 

As  she  sat  around  the  fire  with  the  family,  one  of 
the  neighbors  who  was  present  quietly  slipped  away 
to  the  barn  and  quickly  saddled  his  horse,  riding 
all  night  through  the  darkness  and  mud  to  the  mouth 
of  Buffalo  Creek,  where  he  had  a  daybreak  conference 
with  Patrick  Allen.  It  is  certain  that  Patrick  was 
opposed  to  strenuous  measures,  and  severely  caution- 
ed the  hot-headed  youth  before  he  departed.  But 
after  that  no  more  was  seen  or  heard  of  the  unhappy 
Cherry  Wisdom.  Whether  she  was  thrown  into  the 
creek  and  drowned,  or  died  along  the  road  from  expo- 
sure, or  wandered  back  into  the  mountains,  no  one  will 
tell.  Her  children,  grown  up  and  married  when  Tod- 
Kah-Dohs  died  in  1840,  averred  that  they  never  re- 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  225 


membered  any  mother  after  she  took  her  departure 
for  Pennsylvania. 

About  the  time  of  the  visit  of  the  heartsick  squaw 
to  Buffalo  Valley  "Peter  Strong'  contracted  a  second 
marrige,  strangely  enough  to  a  sister  of  the  youth 
who  had  apprised  Patrick  Allen  of  the  Indian  wife's 
presence  in  the  valley.  Four  children  were  born  and 
he  seemed  tolerably  happy  in  the  new  life.  To  please 
the  white  wife,  who  probably  cherished  jealous  senti- 
ments towards  her  predecessor,  he  cut  his  hair  short, 
grew  a  beard  and  threw  his  gaudy  earrings  into  the 
river.  Hut  his  habits  and  manners  were  ever  those 
of  an  Indian.  He  refused  to  discard  his  bow  and 
arrow,  using  it  on  small  birds  and  wild  ducks;  he 
was  also  a  keen  rifle  shot  to  the  last.  It  was  his 
pride  that  his  senses  were  so  acute  that  he  could  not  be 
approached  by  anyone.  It  was  his  dare  to  everyone 
in  the  neighborhood  to  creep  up  on  him  unawares. 
( hily  once  did  anyone  get  up  to  him  without  being 
first  observed. 

There  was  a  cornfield  on  a  side  hill,  and  on  the 
back  of  the  ridge  many  a  "smart  Aleck"  clambered 
in  the  hopes  of  surprising  Peter  at  his  work.  But  he 
so  resented  the  one  time  he  was  caught  off  his  guard 
that  the  victor  was  robbed  of  much  of  his  pleasure. 

As  he  grew  older  he  loved  to  talk  about  his  days 
with  the  Indians,  never  expressing  disapprobation  of 
the  murder  of  his  father,  but  always  extolling  the  red- 
men's  character  and  mode  of  living.  He  made  many 
bows  and  arrows  for  the  small  boys  of  the  neighbor- 


226  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


hood  and  delighted  in  teaching  them  how  to  use  the 
primitive  weapons  correctly.  As  fall  approached  he 
always  planned  an  elk  hunt  to  the  North,  but  some- 
how they  never  came  to  pass. 

It  was  in  the  Autumn  in  the  Indian  Summer  time, 
when  the  sky  is  the  color  of  the  blue-wood  asters,  and 
the  yellow  hue  of  the  hickory  leaves  is  the  most 
noticeable  shade  of  valley  and  hill,  when  the  streams 
run  shallow,  when  the  odor  of  grapes  and  nuts  and 
dried  leaves  permeates  the  soft  air,  and  there  is  a 
sweet  subtle  melancholy  pervading  all  nature,  "Peter 
Strong"  was  invariably  filled  with  a  deep  longing  for 
the  lands  of  beech  and  maple  to  the  North.  Often 
the  old  man  sat  for  hours  at  a  time  on  a  log  by  the 
river  bank,  straining  his  eyes  to  see  the  bold  promon- 
tory of  the  North  Mountain  shape  itself  out  of  the 
?moky  landscape.  \Yhat  thoughts  passed  through  his 
biain,  these  his  wife  and  children,  unimaginative  hard- 
working souls,  never  suspected  and  could  not  under- 
stand if  they  did.  Whether- he  had  acted  justly  to 
give  up  the  savage  race  that  murdered  his  father  and 
little  sister,  and  return  to  his  aged  mother  and  make 
her  last  days  gladsome,  even  though  a  loving  Indian 
wife  and  children  were  left  to  languish,  was  ever 
uppermost  in  his  thoughts,  his  conscience  would  give 
him  no  peace.  He  never  settled  the  matter  in  his 
mind.  There  was  always  an  open  sore  in  his  soul. 

One  September  night  he  was  awakened  by  some 
one  faintly  calling  his  name,  "Peter,  Peter,  Peter." 
He  slept  on  a  bunk  by  the  kitchen  wall,  being  too 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  227 

feeble  to  climb  the  stairs.  It  was  an  easy  matter  to 
find  his  staff  and  push  his  way  out  into  the  clear  cool 
night.  Jt  was  not  the  voice  of  the  katy-dids,  but 
seemed  to  come  from  the  river  bank,  but  when  he 
reached  it,  it  seemed  to  be  out  on  the  river,  or  on  the 
opposite  bank,  calling  "Peter,  Peter,  Peter." 

His  son's  dugout  was  chained  directly  in  the  eddy, 
so  he  stumbled  down  the  steep  slope  to  where  it  was 
moored.  The  voice  was  strangely  familiar,  it  was 
the  voice  of  Cherry  Wisdom,  the  black-eyed  and  lov- 
ing wife  of  his  youth,  the  mother  of  his  little  dark 
children.  He  would  go  to  her  and  spend  his  last  days 
with  her,  no  matter  what  his  other  family  thought ; 
they  were  nothing  to  him.  He  forgot  his  ninety  years, 
he  was  a  bold  young  hunter  again.  He  broke  the  lock 
on  the  dugout  with  a  stone,  pushed  off  and  was  soon 
1  'addling  in  midstream.  He  was  floating  to  the  shore 
of  the  spirit  where  the  inequalities  and  errors  and 
pains  of  life  are  mended  forever.  .  .  .  The  next 
morning  the  dugout  was  found  knocking  against  one 
of  the  piers  of  the  covered  bridge  at  Derrstown,  but 
the  body  of  Peter  Strong,  the  squaw  man,  was  never 
discovered.  Elijah  had  discarded  his  chariot. 


XVII.    Woodpecker's  Head 

MANY  have  been  the  important  historical  hap- 
penings in  and  out  of  the  stockade  of  old  Fort 
Littleton,  on  the  '  Forbes  Road  in  Fulton 
County,  and  coupled  and  interwoven  with  these 
have  been  numerous  by-plays  and  events  of 
human  interest  which  just  missed  the  historian's 
province.  This  particular  story  has  its  origin 
in  the  Blue  Mountains,  between  Dauphin  and 
Schuylkill  Counties,  where,  at  the  Cold  Spring,  a  com- 
pany of  Cherokee  mercenaries,  with  their  women  and 
children,  were  camped  pending  an  attack  on  some 
hostile  Indians  of  the  neighborhood.  The  bringing  of 
the  Cherokees  into  Pennsylvania  infuriated  the  na- 
tive tribes  as  much  as  the  use  of  the  Hessians  during 
the  Revolutionary  War,  or  the  hint  of  Japanese  aid  in 
the  World  War.  The  Cherokees  were  a  fine,  stalwart 
race,  many  of  them  very  light  colored,  and  the  women 
surpassingly  beautiful. 

Camped  near  to  these  Indian  renegades  at  another 
big  spring  were  some  white  soldiers,  who  fraternized 
with  their  copper-colored  allies  \vhile  waiting  for 
orders  to  arrve  from  Carlisle.  It  was  the  farthest 
north  that  these  southern  redmen  had  penetrated,  but 
wherever  they  went  they  left  a  record  for  their  bar- 
barities and  needless  acts  of  violence.  They  were 
the  Huns  of  the  French  and  Indian  War.  Among  the 
Indian  women  there  were  several  young  girls  who 
were  much  admired  by  the  white  non-commissioned 

228 


Old  Furnace  Dam 
at 

I  Caledonia 

[ 


XVII.    Woodpecker's  Head 

A\\    have   been    the   important   historical   hap- 
penings ?n  and  out  of  the  stockade  of  old  Fort 
Littleton      on     the     Forbes     Road    in     Fulton 
>•.    and    coupled    and    interwoven     with    these 
been      numerous      by-plays      and      events     of 
!     which    just    missed    the    historian's 
p.ovince.  particular     story     has     its     origin 

n;      the      i'.liu'      Mountain-,    between     Dauphin     and 


M 

Counfv 
have 

human 


ylL 

Y  -if 

I      -    -n     ^  -L    Uj 

ierc  ^IL  iht-  Cold. 

Spring,  a  com- 
eir  women  and 

Che;  \tkee  merce" 

.Irer 
tile 

OU<!  *M 

ndia:is  ,)f  the  . 

j 

mul  BIO 

neighborhood. 

•"in 

ttack  on  some 
'he  bringing  of 
natcd  the  na- 

tril: 

e.-    .1-.  much  as 

the  u-v  of  the  1 

ie.-sians  during 

Rev 

MOOI 

3si«3 

|?.j)anese  aid  in 

\Yo 

•M  \>':ir.    The 

Cherokees  were 

a  line,  stalwart 
and  the  women 

'v  Ti^li     :"f'!'  n'rd  ,"" 

Camped  iit^r  tv<  these  Indian  renegades  at  another 
ii^  spring  v.  cri:  sonu:  white  soldiers,  who  fraternized 
•.  ;!:i    their    ccpper-coon/d    u!li<  s    while     waiting    for 
in  arrvc    from    Carlisle       It    w;t.s    the    farthest 
';,it  these  M)Uihern  re'!;;-'-!-  h:id  penetrated,  but 
they   went  they  leff    .  re«. 'inl  for  their  bar- 
:;'id    needless   acts    of    violence.      They    were 
-  if  '.lie  French  ;i;ni  hiuian  \\'ar.     Among  the 
'ii'iHMi    theri-    \\ere    M  \  <.  ral    voting   girls    who 
i  v   ,id?n;red   by  the   \vhite  non-commissioned 
i)ft$ 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  229 

officers.  They  would  have  been  quickly  told  off  for 
commissioned  officers  if  any  of  these  gentry  had  been 
present,  but  as  there  were  none  the  "non-coms"  rev- 
elled in  the  pasture.  Chief  of  these  comely  girls  was 
one  called  Woodpecker's  Head,  because  she  always 
wore  a  cap  or  headdress  made  from  the  wings  and 
feathers  of  die  cardinal  bird,  whose  blithe  early  morn- 
ing song  of  "cheer,  cheer,  cheer,"  brightened  many  a 
dawn  in  the  southland  home  of  the  Cherokees.  There 
was  a  mountain  back  of  where  the  mixed  party  of 
Indians  and  whites  were  camped,  which  is  now  called 
"Woodpecker's  Head" — but  none  can  tell  if  it  gave  its 
name  to  the  red-capped  maiden,  or  her  scarlet  head- 
dress suggested  the  name  for  the  mountain.  Wood- 
pecker's Head,  the  girl,  was  a  very  vigorous  and 
sprightly  specimen  of  her  race,  if  real  Indian  she 
was,  as  her  pale  cheeks,  with  a  bright  red  flush  in 
them,  and  bobbed  brown  hair,  seemed  indicative  of  an 
infusion  of  the  blood  of  a  fairer  stock.  She  was  ob- 
viously "Woodpecker's  Head"  from  her  headdress, 
but  some  of  the  other  white  soldiers  called  her  "Short 
Dress,"  because  she  wore  a  deerskin  skirt  which  came 
barely  to  her  knees.  She  was  as  powerful  and  agile 
as  a  boy,  a  great  runner  and  swimmer  and  a  first-class 
rifle  shot. 

As  there  were  no  white  girls  for  miles  around,  and 
if  there  were  it  would  have  been  hard  to  find  the  equal 
of  "Woodpecker's  Head,"  this  Indian  maid  had  her 
pick  of  the  white  riflemen.  She  selected  a  very  good- 
looking  youth,  a  sergeant  named  Adam  Berkenhaut. 


230  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


There  was  no  doubt  but  the  young  soldier  was  smitten 
with  the  girl,  and  felt  considerable  pride  that  he  had 
been  singled  out  by  her,  when  his  entire  detachment 
were  pining  for  a  smile.  He  seemed  to  make  no  con- 
cealment of  his  infatuation,  and  the  girl,  with  her  lim- 
ited knowledge  of  white  men's  ways,  believed  him  not 
only  in  love,  but  sincere.  There  was  considerable 
doubt  as  to  that,  as  there  was  a  tall,  thin  private  named 
McManahoy  to  whom  he  confided  that  he  was  only 
playing  with  the  girl,  that  he  would  just  as  soon  marry 
a  Negro  girl  as  an  Indian,  but  that  did  not  prevent  en- 
joying himself  with  the  Cherokee  maid  in  a  way  that 
no  black  girl  could  have  substituted. 

When  the  elegant  Captain  Dagworthy  appeared  on 
the  scene  to  take  command,  he  found  a  demoralized 
state  of  affairs,  the  Indian  men  drinking  rum  and 
their  girls  going  about  with  the  white  soldiers.  Under 
his  shako  he  cast  an  admiring  glance  at  Woodpecker's 
Head,  probably  secretly  envying  his  lucky  sergeant, 
but  he  wisely  moved  his  camp  five  miles  further  north 
from  the  Cold  Spring  and  forbade  all  social  inter- 
course with  the  Indians. 

It  was  among  the  sources  of  the  Swatara  that  Ser- 
geant Berkenhaut  met  and  was  loved  by  a  winsome 
Dutch  girl,  and  condescended  to  marry  her.  He  tried 
to  obtain  a  discharge  after  this  marriage  ;  he  wanted 
to  quit  soldiering  and  clear  a  farm,  and  be  a  hunter ; 
but  Captain  Dagworthy  saw  no  grounds  to  recommend 
such  action,  and  intimated  that  his  wife  might  follow 
him  and  share  the  fortunes  of  war.  The  sergeant  sub- 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  231 


mitted  reluctantly,  and  ever  afterwards  hated  his  cap- 
tain. He  did  not  care  to  leave  his  wife  behind,  though 
he  said  to  himself  that  there  were  many  others  just  as 
attractive.  \Yhat  he  wanted  most  of  all  was  to  be 
free  of  discipline  and  start  a  home.  He  felt  this  thrill 
of  the  soil  especially  in  the  spring  of  the  year,  from 
the  time  when  the  warm  sun  first  unclosed  the  pussy 
willows,  on  into  summer,  when  his  dream  of  freedom 
in  a  measure  subsided.  A  year  after  his  marriage, 
and  nearly  two  years  after  his  romance  with  \Yood- 
pecker's  Head,  Sergeant  Uerkenhaut  became  a  part  of 
the  garrison  of  historic  Fort  Littleton.  It  stood  on  a 
hill,  with  an  amphitheatre  of  mountain  peaks  which 
hid  the  cove  beyond.  Log  houses  were  built  within 
the  great  stockade,  which  historians  state  "was  almost 
cannon  proof,"  and  the  non-commissioned  officers  and 
their  families  had  an  exceedingly  good  taste  of  "home 
life."  Sergeant  Berkenhaut  had  his  \vife  with  him, 
and  their  first  baby,  but  it  was  noted  that  he  was  not 
a  good  husband  or  father,  as  he  played  cards  and 
gambled  in  every  possible  way  when  oft"  duty,  and 
only  returned  to  his  cabin  in  the  early  hours  of  the 
morning,  and  he  would  drink  when  he  could  get  the 
stuff.  He  was  a  small,  slimly  made  man,  with  restless 
brown  eyes,  curly  hair,  and  thick  lips,  yet  he  seemed 
to  be  a  lady's  favorite,  and  he  knew  it. 

The  Cherokees  were  still  in  service,  and  from  time 
to  time  came  to  the  fort  with  scalps,  on  which  they 
claimed  rewards.  There  was  no  regular  bounty  sys- 
tem, as  John  Perm  had  not  as  yet  instituted  the  in- 


232  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

famous  scalp  law  of  July,  1764,  nor  Maclay's  propo- 
sition to  hunt  Indians  with  bloodhounds  electrified  the 
man-slayers ;  yet  in  order  to  encourage  the  mercen- 
aries a  cash  reward  was  paid  for  every  scalp  brought 
in.  These  were  supposed  to  be  Indian  scalps,  but 
when  one  of  the  Cherokees  attempted  to  squeeze 
through  on  the  pile  a  long,  brown,  curly  wig  of 
European  design,  an  imposition  was  suspected,  and 
Captain  Dagworthy  ordered  all  scalps  split  in  two 
before  the  bounty  money  was  paid  over. 

Among  the  Cherokees  to  visit  the  stockade  was 
Wolf,  a  tall,  slim  youth,  who  deeply  loved  Wood- 
pecker's Head",  or  "Short  Dress."  He  had  been  ig- 
nored for  the  little,  curly-haired  sergeant,  and  felt  the 
slight  keenly.  He  did  not  see  Berkenhaut  with  his 
wife  and  child,  but  saw  the  sergeant,  and  in  asking 
about  him  from  one  of  his  corporals  learned  that  he 
was  married  and  a  father.  This  fired  the  chivalrous 
Cherokee,  for  Woodpecker's  Head  had  never  been  the 
same  since  her  parting  from  the  sergeant ;  her  buoy- 
ancy of  spirits  vanished,  she  ran  no  more  races,  nor 
jumped  and  practiced  with  the  bow ;  the  bright  red 
spots  left  her  cheeks,  and  she  sat  about  the  camp  like 
one  in  a  decline.  Yet  she  would  notice  no  Indian  ad- 
mirers, and  this  seemed  to  indicate  that  she  was  eating 
her  heart  out  for  the  white  man's  return. 

The  slighted  Cherokee  lost  no  time  in  traveling  the 
sixteen  miles  to  his  camp  just  over  the  Maryland  line, 
and  telling  several  maidens  whom  he  knew  were  close 
to  "Short  Dress''  of  the  faithlessness  of  the  low- 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  233 

blooded  "Wunnux,"  or  white  man,  who  had  wooed 
her.  The  news  came  to  Woodpecker's  Head  like  a 
poisoned  arrow  through  the  heart.  The  pang  on  re- 
ceiving the  first  intimation  of  a  loved  one's  instability 
is  the  most  poignant  of  all  the  pains  that  last  through 
life.  The  Indian  girl  writhed  in  soul  torture,  but,  like 
her  race,  she  made  no  outward  show  ;  tears,  screams 
and  hysterics  were  for  the  white  women,  the  kind 
whom  Sergeant  Adam  Berkenhaut  preferred.  She 
would  do  what  white  women  under  similar  circum- 
stances would  like  to  do,  but  had  not  the  courage- 
she  would  be  avenged  for  her  humiliation.  To  do  this 
she  professed  to  be  again  interested  in  the  chase  and 
archery.  She  shot  many  gaudy-plumaged  birds  out  of 
the  trees — cardinals,  tanagers,  paroquets  and  che- 
winks.  She  strayed  farther  into  the  forest  for  larger 
game.  Wolf  had  told  her  that  Berkenhaut  was  still 
sergeant  of  the  guard,  and  she  contrived  to  have  him 
go  back  again  to  find  out  just  what  nights  he  turned 
out  and  the  hour,  the  simple  redman  never  suspecting 
the  reason.  To  make  sure,  Short  Dress  reconnoitered 
for  herself  on  moonlight  nights,  and  could  see  the 
little  sergeant  emerge  from  the  guard  room.  She 
could  have  shot  him  easily  from  her  perch  with  a  rifle, 
but  she  knew  that  she  would  be  caught  before  she 
could  scramble  down  from  her  position.  She  was 
determined  to  be  revenged,  and  in  her  code  this  meant 
that  Berkenhaut  must  die  by  her  hand. 

The  trees  had  been  cleared  away  from  the  lowlands 
for  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  mile  on  every  side  of  the 


234  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

hill  on  which  the  stockade  and  fort  stood,  and  the 
uneven  ground  was  covered  with  blackened  logs,  stabs 
and  stumps,  for  the  clearing  had  been  fired  "to  clean 
it  up"  after  the  timber  was  felled.  There  was  no 
stab  tall  or  secure  enough  to  get  into  to  shoot  across 
the  stockade  with  the  proper  trajectory,  but  she  could 
easily  crawl  along  on  hands  and  knees  beside  the  logs ; 
she  must  shoot  him  from  the  top  of  the  stockade.  Her 
bow  and  arrow  were  the  surest  and  quietest  weapons. 
She  could  quickly  "skin  up"  the  stockade  wall,  wing 
her  man,  be  down  and  fly  like  a  deer  to  the  cover  of 
the  midnight  woods  before  an  alarm  was  sounded  and 
the  great  log  gates  swung  open  to  her  pursuers.  No 
one  could  outrun  her  in  the  timber,  and  she  knew 
every  path.  The  sergeant  must  die  before  the  moon 
went  out,  and  by  her  spying  she  selected  the  proper 
hour. 

On  the  appointed  night,  with  bow  and  quiver  slung 
over  her  shoulder  like  a  very  voluptuous  Diana,  she 
scampered  to  the  edge  of  the  forest,  and  looked  out  on 
the  sombre  walls  of  the  fort,  phosphorescent  in  the 
waning  moonlight.  There  was  a  line  of  huge,  black- 
ened, recumbent  logs,  accidentally  thrown,  but  form- 
ing a  path  across  the  clearing  almost  to  the  stockade. 
In  the  lea  of  these  she  would  steal  on  her  belly  like  a 
pantheress,  and  in  an  instant  be  upon  the  wall,  and 
send  a  "pile"  from  her  bow  through  the  sergeant's 
heart  that  would  atone  for  the  never-to-be-healed 
wound  he  had  placed  in  her  owrn.  Crouching  down 
she  stealthily  crept  along,  close  behind  the  huge 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  235 

charred  prone  trunks.  Beyond  the  last  one  was  a 
space  of  thirty  feet  that  she  must  run  across,  but  she 
was  as  quick  as  a  ghost,  and  could  not  be  seen  any 
more  than  the  night  wind.  In  the  electric  blue  reflec- 
tion of  the  moon  she  stood  erect,  as  if  one  of  the  re- 
cumbent trees  had  lifted  its  head.  As  she  did  so  she 
felt  a  sharp  jab  of  pain  in  the  sole  of  one  of  her  feet — 
was  she  snake-bitten,  maybe?  She  took  another  step, 
a  second  hideous  throb  in  her  other  foot ;  it  was  pain 
enough  to  have  made  a  white  woman,  or  white  man, 
for  that  matter,  sob  out  or  curse,  but  Short  Dress  did 
neither — she  was  a  Cherokee  maid  and  bound  on  re- 
venge. She  took  another  step,  a  fresh  wound  and 
pain  ;  a  fourth  step,  another  pang,  and  she  dropped 
down  among  the  logs,  writhing  in  agony.  She  soon 
saw  the  cause  of  her  trouble ;  some  one  had,  in  antici- 
pation of  Indian  treachery,  strewn  the  ground  with 
crowsfeet,  anciently  called  caltraps  ;  four  had  run  into 
the  soles  of  her  pretty  bare  feet,  and,  tug  as  she  might, 
their  fish-hook  like  tips  only  imbedded  them  in  her 
flesh  the  tighter.  There  was  a  burning  pain  that 
could  not  come  from  iron's  wound  alone,  the  crows- 
feet  must  be  poisoned.  Dropping  down  on  her  stomach 
again,  she  painfully  crawled  back  towards  the  wel- 
come depths  of  the  forest,  to  lie  there  until  daylight, 
when  she  would  make  further  efforts  to  tear  out  the 
hideous  caltraps.  At  every  move  she  made  the  pain 
that  surged  through  her  entire  body  became  more  ex- 
cruciating and  her  head  swam.  The  poison  was 
getting  in  its  work,  she  would  die  without  revenge, 


236  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

and  miserably  like  a  wolf  or  a  skunk,  at  the  white 
man's  hands.  It  was  all  that  she  could  do  to  drag  her- 
self to  the  forest,  where  she  lay  back  against  the  roots 
of  a  giant  white  oak,  her  whole  young  frame  convul- 
sively shaking  with  agony.  At  last  the  pain  that 
burned  her  vitals  was  more  than  she  could  endure : 
she  might  scream  out  and  die  like  a  white  wroman  or 
a  coward,  and  not  like  a  Cherokee.  She  put  her 
fingers  in  her  mouth  and  bit  them  until  blood  streamed 
down,  the  pain  growing  worse  each  second,  yet  she 
would  not  die  shrieking  like  Berkenhaut's  \vife  would 
have  expired. 

The  end  soon  came,  and  she  slipped  down,  lying  al- 
most flat  on  her  back,  her  stiffened  fists  dug  deeply  in 
her  rigid  mouth.  She  was  a  wistful  figure  in  death, 
the  arrows  and  bow  resting  by  her  side,  her  eyes  look- 
ing straight  ahead  through  an  opening  in  the  branches 
of  the  forest  undergrowth,  towards  the  stockade.  Love 
crucified ! 

In  the  morning  Captain  Dagworthy  started  out  for 
his  usual  solitary  stroll  in  the  woods,  sword  at  side, 
debonair  and  unafraid.  He  crossed  the  desolate 
slashing,  stepping  very  carefully  where  only  the  milk- 
weeds grew  among  the  charred  trunks,  and  entered 
the  noble  forest.  Through  the  same  vista  that  ''Short 
Dress"  had  tried  to  take  her  last  look  on  life,  he  saw 
what  seemed  like  Diana  sleeping.  The  red  cardinal's 
feathers  were  all  awry  over  one  eye,  but  he  speedily 
recognized  her  as  Woodpecker's  Head.  Stooping  over 
he  looked  for  the  cause  of  her  death  and  saw  the  four 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  237 


murderous  caltraps  in  her  feet,  the  crooked  points 
coming  out  through  the  insteps.  "The  poisoned 
crows  feet — oh,  hell!"  he  said.  "I  did  not  want  to  do 
it.  but  that  German  libber  Berkenhaut  was  all  for  it, 
and  we  have  killed  the  most  beautiful  thing  in  the 
world !"  Looking  at  the  poor  fists  clenched  in  her 
mouth,  the  clotted  blood  on  fingers  and.  chin,  he  ex- 
claimed: "Poor  Short  Dress!  She  died  gamer  than 
many  a  gentleman  who  has  been  brought  up  on  codes 
of  honor ;  she  would  shame  my  entire  garrison." 

All  thoughts  of  a  walk  were  over,  and  he  picked  up 
the  limp  corpse  and  carried  it  carefully  across  the 
slashing,  watching  every  step,  and  under  the  fcr  a 
chc'i'al  portal  of  the  stockade,  lie  laid  the  body  down 
where  the  floating  streamer  of  his  King's  flag  shaded 
it  from  above,  and  blew  his  whistle.  Instantly  the 
guard  rushed  out,  among  them  Sergeant  Berkenhaut. 
They  jumped  back  at  the  sight  of  the  corpse,  but  the 
sergeant  called  them  to  attention.  Captain  Dagworthy 
ordered  a  grave  dug,  and  when  it  was  done,  himself 
tenderly  placed  the  dead  girl  in  it,  along  with  her  bow 
and  arrows,  but  ordered  that  the  grave  be  not  filled  up 
immediately.  He  then  motioned  for  Berkenhaut  to  come 
to  him.  "Sergeant,"  he  said,  severely,  "we  are  either 
men  or  brutes,  and  the  death  of  this  Cherokee  girl 
proves  that  we  are  not  engaged  in  civilized  warfare. 
Send  the  guard  out  and  gather  up  every  damned  caltrap 
in  the  clearing,  and  bring  them  to  me,  and  I  will  put 
them  where  they  will  do  no  further  harm."  The  ser- 
geant was  wise  in  the  ways  of  the  frontier  enough  to 


238  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


know  that  the  dead  girl  was  his  would-be  slayer,  and 
that  the  crowsf eet  had  saved  him,  but  he  had  the  -work 
performed  with  a  will,  and  laid  an  old  straw  beehive 
full  of  the  villainous  little  instruments  of  torture  at  his 
captain's  feet.  Captain  Dagworthy  was  visibly  af- 
fected, but  he  began  strewing  the  caltraps  in  the  open 
grave  like  sprigs  of  Acacia,  and  as  the  last  one  was  in 
he  told  his  men  to  fill  it  up.  "Good  bye,  Woodpecker's 
Head,  bravest  of  maidens,"  he  whispered  as  the  sods 
were  leveled  over  it.  When  all  was  done,  he  ordered  a 
salute  fired',  and  stood  until  the  last  echoes  of  the  vol- 
leys were  lost  among  the  dizzy  crags  of  Sidney's  Knob. 


XVIII.    The  Timber  Line 

IT  was  a  raw,  cold  afternoon  in  the  midst  of  the 
Equinoxial  storms  of  early  October ;  there  had 
been  a  heavy  rain  all  the  forenoon,  which  had 
been  followed  by  high  winds  and  later  by  a  decided 
drop  in  the  temperature ;  leaves  as  they  fell  seemed 
to  stick  to  ground  and  boardwalks. 

Jonathan  Hastie  stood  on  the  narrow  platform  at 
a  little  railway  junction  some  miles  South  of  Carlisle, 
waiting  for  the  Northbound  train.  It  was  a  dreary, 
forbidding  looking  place,  yet  it  was  not  without  at- 
tractions for  him.  It  was  during  the  next  to  the  last 
year  of  the  Civil  war  that  he  had  last  been  there,  en- 
camped with  his  Company  for  a  period  that  would 
have  seemed  longer  than  necessary  had  it  not  been 
for  a  romantic  attachment  formed — yet  he  had  not 
been  back  though  nearly  ten  years  had  intervene 

Time  and  many  more  or  less  stirring  events  had 
almost  obliterated  the  sentimental  memories  of  his 
sojourn,  they  were  not  the  hrst  thoughts  that  came 
to  him  as  stepped  off  the  wheezy,  pokey,  swaying  lit- 
tle train.  They  were  martial  thoughts,  full  of  the 
color  and  action  of  camp  and  field,  the  bombardment 
of  Carlisle,  the  burning  of  Chambersburg,  the  thwart- 
ed raid  from  Casey's  Gap,  the  ruling  instincts  of  a 
healthy  out-door  man.  Then  when  the  vivid  pictures 
of  military  life  were  reviewed  came  other  images,  a 
distant  view  of  Mount  Parnell,  as  seen  from  an  old 
mansion  near  the  gently  flowing  Conodogwinet,  sun- 

239 


240  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

set  in  an  orchard,  the  pavements  of  a  village  street 
covered  with  yellow  leaves,  a  quail  whistling  in  a 
clover  field,  a  country  Christinas  eve  on  a  snowy 
night,  the  most  heautiful  pictures  of  the  civilian  life 
he  had  touched  wrhile  camped  at  the  junction,  and 
Vanessa  Everett. 

Where  was  she  at  that  moment,  what  had  become 
of  her,  was  she  still  at  the  comfortable  old  white 
painted  farmhouse  over  by  the  mill?  She  had  been 
a  faithful  correspondent  until  his  half  of  the  letter 
writing  partnership  lapsed.  And  when  they  ceased, 
his  temporary  abodes  in  his  travels  had  known  her 
little,  uneven,  scratchy  hand  no  more.  And  where 
were  the  letters,  those  frank,  sincere,  wonderful  let- 
ters, pure  and  fresh  as  mountain  breezes !  In  a  card- 
board box  somewhere,  perhaps  at  home,  or  mayhap 
had  helped  brighten  a  fire  as  they  had  his  heart,  ere 
this. 

As  his  thoughts  crystallized  on  Vanessa,  he  began 
pacing  up  and  down  the  platform,  a  feeling  of  rest- 
lessness came  over  him,  together  with  sharp  pains  as 
if  the  blood  were  racing  to  the  heart  too  fast,  all  his 
old  imperturbability  was  gone.  Several  times  he  went 
into  the  station  to  find  out  about  the  train ;  it  was  an 
hour  late ;  it  was  seldom  less  than  that,  but  might  be 
making  up  time,  the  agent  said,  so  the  young  man 
decided  not  to  leave  the  platform  and  cross  the  open 
common  where  he  had  camped,  but  where  now  the 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  241 

cordwood  for  the  engines  was  piled,  for  a  stroll  up 
the  village  street. 

At  length  the  shrill  whistle  was  heard  from  behind 
the  oak  grove  which  masked  the  curve,  then  the 
bulbous  smokestack  hove  in  sight,  'spouting  great 
masses  of  dark  wood  smoke ;  the  cars  were  visible 
swaying  and  toddling  behind.  The  agent  came  out  on 
the  platform,  two  or  three  habitues  appeared,  seem- 
ingly from  nowhere,  the  little  station  took  on  a  look  of 
animation,  further  enhanced  by  the  arrival  at  the  last 
minute  of  a  shirt-sleeved  Negro  pushing  a  rattling 
baggage  truck.  With  great  creaking  of  brakes  and 
valves,  the  wood-burner  came  to  a  halt.  Several  pas- 
sengers were  alighting.  There  was  one,  a  young  wo- 
man, taller  and  slimmer  than  the  rest;  she  wore  a  black 
velvet  hat.  a  dark  fur  was  around  her  neck ;  there  was 
something  familiar  in  her  sallowness  and  brown  eyes. 

As  these  details  adjusted  themselves  in  Jonathan 
1  fastie's  consciousness  he  realized  that  he  was  face  to 
face  with  Vanessa  Everett,  the  object  of  most  of  his 
thoughts  for  the  past  hour.  Their  eyes  met,  there  was 
surprise  in  their  glances;  they  greeted  one  another  as 
if  they  had  been  parted  but  a  day,  instead  of  for  nearly 
ten  years.  Vanessa  looked  not  a  day  older  than  when 
they  last  met :  so  young,  in  fact,  that  it  was  as  if 
she  had  been  subtracted  from  the  ordinary  course 
of  existence  and  left  to  stay  at  twenty !  Jonathan 
could  not  recall  the  circumstances  of  the  parting; 
probably  they  had  driven  to  the  waterfall  ba'ck  of  Par- 


242  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


nell  in  Yankee  Gap,  their  favorite  drive.    Then  he  had 
gone  off  with  his  Company  and  had  not  returned. 

During  the  intervening  years,  though  he  had  spent 
most  of  his  time  in  the  North  Tier  of  Pennsylvania,  a 
winter  in  Michigan  and  another  in  the  Adirondack 
Mountans  of  Northern  New  York,  he  had  not  alto- 
gether lost  track  of  Vanessa.  Only  a  month  before  he 
had  met  a  man  who  was  a  non-commissioned  officer  in 
his  old  Company,  who  had  re-visited  the  Junction 
where  he  was  told  that  she  was  still  unmarried.  There- 
fore his  greeting  was  a  trifle  more  cordial  than  if  such 
a  barrier  to  further  acquaintance  existed,  at  least  on 
her  side. 

Yes,  Vanessa  was  looking  just  the  same,  what 
were  nine  years  and  more !  The  wavy  almost  black 
hair,  the  dark  brows,  the  deep-set  eyes  of  such  un- 
usual shade  of  brown  and  gold,  the  long  black 
iashes,  the  pretty  mouth  with  lips  of  magenta  color, 
(the  corners  descending;  the  small,  even  teeth,  set  far 
apart,  which  showed  when  she  smiled,  were  just  as 
white  as  ever;  the  slightly  aquline -nose,  the  meagre 
cheeks  revealing  the  firm  lines  of  the  jaw,  the  oriental 
sallowness,  all  were  unchanged.  The  years  had  re- 
spited and,  if  anything,  enhanced  these  superlative 
charms. 

Then  the  impatient  whistle  blew  and  the  polished 
brass  bell  clanged.  Before  Jonathan  climbed  aboard 
and  resumed  his  journey  northward  he  asked  Vanessa 
to  write  him  to  General  Delivery,  Muncy,  Lycoming 
County.  She  said  she  would,  gladly.  His  heart  was 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  243 

beating  fast,  little  chills  and  thrills  went  through  him, 
all  his  old  love  life  burned  as  of  yore.  It  had  been 
lying  dormant  ready  to  burst  forth  again  at  sight  of 
the  beloved  object.  Is  love  a  chrysallis?  He  had  felt 
very  despondent  during  the  day,  for  some  unaccount- 
able reason,  but  the  sight  of  her  was  like  a  brisk  thun- 
derstorm to  revive  his  spiritual  atmosphere.  The  last 
letters  he  had  received  from  her  meant  much  to  him, 
but  he  had  come  to  think  of  her  seldom,  and  rarely 
dreamed  of  her.  Yet  he  was  always  thrilled  when  he 
heard  her  name  mentioned,  but  that  was  all.  He  had 
been  much  agitated  at  the  possibility  of  seeing  her  on 
one  occasion  six  months  before  when  he  thought  that 
he  could  reach  his  destination  by  way  of  the  Junction. 
The  time-table  was  not  accommodating ;  he  went  a 
different  way,  but  not  without  pangs  of  regret.  That 
had  told  him  that  his  love  was  the  same.  Now  he  had 
seen  her  and  his  heart  beat  wilder  than  ever.  Why 
had  his  love  been  laid  away  to  be  revived  by  seeing  her 
for  a  moment  after  an  interval  of  nine  years?  Per- 
haps it  had  burned  too  fiercely  in  its  heydey ;  it  needed 
to  be  laid  on  the  shelf  for  a  while  so  as  not  to  burn 
itself  out.  If  anything  his  emotion  now  was  stronger 
than  before  ;  he  was  more  mature — over  thirty — was  it 
not  natural  that,  like  all  the  vital  forces,  it  should  gain 
ii.  strength.  The  elation  of  seeing  her  was  succeeded 
by  nervousness ;  so  uneasy  did  he  feel  that  when  he 
reached  Harrisburg  he  was  glad  to  draw  the  cur- 
tains on  his  consciousness  by  going  immediately 
to  bed  after  a  light  supper  at  the  Commonwealth. 


244  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


Before  he  fell  asleep  he  blamed  himself  for  allowing 
any  one  who  possessed  such  a  hold  on  his  soul  to  be 
taken  out  of  his  life,  but  there  were  reasons  which  at 
the  time  seemed  insurmountable. 

In  the  morning,  after  a  good  night's  rest,  he  felt 
differently,  and  on  his  journey  up  the  Susquehanna 
Valley  was  resigned  to  things  as  they  were,  and  tried 
to  recollect  if  there  were  any  little  incidents  that  had 
depressed  the  flame  of  his  love.  But  if  there  were  any, 
they  were  inconsequential  in  guaging  human  character. 
He  was  far  from  satisfied  at  the  way  destiny  had  guid- 
ed him,  and  yesterday's  meeting  still  caused  the  warm 
blood  of  love  to  tingle  in  his  heart.  Life  again  seemed 
wonderfully  sweet,  as  sweet  as  the  gentle,  wistful 
loveliness  of  the  quiet  little  valleys  that  opened  out  as 
the  train  jogged  by. 

He  spent  the  night  at  Muncy,  his  last  waking  recol- 
lections being  of  Vanessa,  but  the  following  morning 
made  him  even  more  resigned  to  things  as  they  were. 
But  at  rare  intervals  came  the  accusing  thought,  why 
had  he  allowed  one  who  was  capable  of  causing  him 
so  much  happiness  to  be  stolen  from  his  life?  We 
live  but  once,  and  there  is  so  much  unhappmess  for 
most  of  us ! 

At  daybreak  began  a  long  carriage  journey  up  the 
Loyalsook  Valley  to  the  North  Mountain,  where  he 
was  to  survey  a  large  tract  of  original  timber  that  was 
about  to  change  ownership.  The  pineries  began  near 
the  summit  of  the  North  Mountain  and  ran  north- 
ward, crossing  so  many  ridges  that  it  seemed  to  be  a 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  245 


dark  carpet  laid  over  the  so-called  Impassable  or  End- 
less Mountains  of  the  old  map-makers. 

It  was  a  pleasant  drive  up  the  dreamy  Loyalsock. 
The  road  was  fairly  good,  the  scenery  was  magnifi- 
cent, the  dark  mountain  background  in  every  picture, 
the  birches  and  lindens  along  the  water's  edge,  the  dun 
and  buff  leafed  hickories  in  the  rolling  fields,  the  red 
maples  on  the  hillsides,  the  fire  blackened  stumps  in 
the  new  ground.  The  air  was  pregnant  with  the  odor 
of  falling  leaves,  of  apples,  wild  grapes.  Jonathan 
Hastie  admired  the  charming  vistas,  but  ever  and  anon 
came  the  picture  of  Vanessa,  vividly  before  him.  She 
seemed  to  be  hovering  near  him,  a  spiritualized  winged 
victory.  He  was  glad  the  journey  was  so  long,  it  was 
beautiful,  so  like  Vanessa,  and  he  liked  to  be  alone 
with  his  thoughts.  In  his  mind,  as  in  every  one  else's, 
K  a  World  of  Things  as  They  Should  Be — why  isn't 
that  the  real  world  and  the  world  of  cares  and 
thwarted  hopes  the  illusion  ?  He  saw  a  large  button- 
wood  tree  by  the  stream,  with  many  broken  branches, 
each  like  a  hope  well  begun  but  shattered.  Pascal  has 
said'  that  a  prolonged  dream  would  be  the  same  as 
reality.  Happy  are  the  dreamers,  for  they  have  found 
the  real  life,  the  kernel  of  existence;  the  outei  shell- 
life  doesn't  count,  though  we  exalt  it  undeservedly. 
God  is  within,  in  the  life  of  the  spirit,  that  is  why  He 
is  so  hard  to  find  in  this  hard  outside  wcfrld.  Get 
within,  be  with  the  spirit  and  find  contentment. 

As  the  day  waned  the  North  Mountain  loomed 
nearer  and  vaster.  He  could  make  out  clearly  the 


246  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


great  body  of  land  that  he  was  to  survey,  its  dark 
timber  line  of  pine  and  hemlock  came  just  to  the  crest, 
everything  below  was  deciduous  woods,  burnt-umber 
in  the  falling  light.  What  vast  approaches  there  were 
to  the  North  Mountain,  first  of  all  the  fields  sloped 
towards  it,  then  the  wooded  hills,  then  the  flying 
buttresses  of  outlying  ridges,  all  working  up  to  the 
culmination  of  the  mighty  mountain  itself.  And  be- 
yond were  endless  ranges,  equally  high,  one  ranked 
behind  the  other,  an  army  of  mountains,  so  endless  as 
to  seem  impassable. 

It  was  somewhere  out  beyond  there  that  he  was  to 
camp  at  the  headquarters  of  the  forester,  it  might  be 
four  or  five  ridges,  at  least  beyond  the  North  Moun- 
tain. It  \vas  long  past  dark  when  the  team  drew  up  at 
the  little  hunter's  lodge  below  Forksville,  where  the 
Big  and  Little  Loyalsock  Creeks  came  together. 
Several  ''pheasant"  hunters  were  Quartered  at  the 
inn.  They  were  a  noisy  set  with  their  dogs.  Jonathan 
felt  strangely  out  of  harmony  with  them,  though  he 
was  generally  very  friendly  disposed  towards  most 
everyone.  The  racket  of  the  place,  the  fatigue  of  the 
long  drive,  all  scattered  the  thoughts  of  Vanessa ;  he 
telt  very  normal  as  he  sat  by  the  ten-plate  stove,  ab- 
sorbing its  warmth  and  occasionally  throwing  blocks  of 
birchwoocl  into  it.  He  slept  dreamlessly,  as  was  his 
custom,  except  when  some  vital  event  was  to  occur, 
when  like  the  old  people,  he  "dreamed  straight." 
The  future's  blows  were  revealed  to  him  when  the 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  247 

fateful  axe  was  raised,  yet  they  seemed  just  as  hard 
when  they  fell ! 

In  the  morning  there  was  a  heavy  fog,  almost  a 
"Scotch  mist,"  and  it  was  difficult  to  find  the  moun- 
tain trail  after  leaving  the  public  road.  It  was  a  steep, 
uphill  climb  all  day,  across  endless  mountains.  The 
road,  of  course,  followed  the  creeks  and  hillsides 
where  it  could,  but  it  included  some  gruelling  climbs 
as  well,  the  steam  rose  off  the  backs  of  the  patient, 
willing  horses.  It  was  a  rough  trip,  but  Jonathan's 
wits  were  about  him ;  he  was  laying  plans  for  his 
work,  how  to  do  it  expeditiously  and  efficiently. 
Ruffed  grouse  frequently  flew  up  from  the  grass- 
grown  trail  during  the  afternoon,  a  great  horned  owl, 
or  "Peck,"  as  the  teamster  called  it,  winged  its  noise- 
less flight  from  one  old  oak  to  another,  parallel  with 
the  road,  just  at  dusk.  He  loved  the  even  flute  like 
nocturne  of  this  bird  which  sounded  like  Toot-toot-a- 
loo,  Toot-toot-a-aloo!  It  was  very  different  from  the 
tremolo  of  the  smaller  screech  owl. 

It  was  dark  again  when  the  carriage  emerged  from 
the  deep  hemlock  forest  by  the  edge  of  a  tiny,  crystal- 
line lake.  Nearby  was  a  cabin  of  round  logs,  the  rosy 
lamplight  was  streaming  through  the  tiny  lights  in 
the  window.  The  forester,  young  John  Conley,  also 
a  Civil  War  veteran,  heard  the  approaching  team  and 
came  up  the  path  to  greet  the  visitors,  his  hunting 
dogs  jumping  and  barking  at  his  side.  It  was  a  scene 
of  cheerful  welcome.  Even  pallid  Venus  in  the  clear 


248  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


sky  above  the  pond  beamed  down  in  tones  of  real 
friendliness. 

Jonathan  jumped  out  of  the  cariole  to  shake  hands 
with  the  forester,  and  soon  the  team  stopped  by  the 
porch,  where  all  his  instruments  and  baggage  were 
unloaded.  Conley  opened  the  door,  there  was  a  hot 
fire  in  the  cookstove,  a  brand  new  coal-oil  lamp,  a 
novelty  in  those  days,  shed  its  generous  light  from  a 
table  .by  the  window,  on  w7hich  the  supper  was 
waiting. 

It  was  a  pleasant,  cordial  evening,  a  man's  evening, 
yet  the  shade  of  Vanessa  was  present  in  his  inmost 
thoughts.  The  night  was  passed  very  comfortably 
and  the  next  day  was  a  very  busy  one. 

From  the  tallest  peak  a  view  of  the  Southerly  coun- 
try ranging  up  to  the  North  Mountain  massif  was  ob- 
tained for  miles  around.  To  the  annoyance  of  Con- 
ley,  forest  fires  wrere  seen  raging  in  the  deciduous 
woods  on  the  lower  slopes.  They  hardly  ever  did 
much  damage  in  the  original  timber,  but  the  boundaries 
would  have  to  be  watched.  The  survey  was  post- 
poned for  a  couple  of  days  while  the  forester  secured 
the  services  of  a  dozen  or  more  mountain  men  to 
guard  the  approaches  to  the  virgin  forest,  especially 
hollows  or  drafts  where  there  were  slashings,  or  old 
skidways  abandoned  by  unprogressive  lumbermen. 
This  left  the  young  surveyor  much  to  himself,  and  on 
the  first  of  the  lonely  evenings  he  wrote  a  long  epistle 
to  Vanessa.  He  could  get  it  posted  promptly,  as  the 
teamster  was  returning  to  Muncy  the  next  day,  be- 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  249 


sides  it  gave  him  a  decided  spiritual  relief  to  pour  out 
his  heart  in  a  letter.  Yet  it  was  not  as  frank  and  affec- 
tionate a  missive  as  had  been  Vanessa's  letters,  even 
towards  the  end  of  their  correspondence,  but  he  could 
not  even  now  make  up  his  mind  what  she  would 
mean  to  him  in  the  future.  Did  she  care  for  him  as 
much  as  he  did  for  her ;  he  was  never  certain  of  that, 
even  after  her  devotion  as  expressed  in  her  letters. 
Doubting  was  his  fault,  he  had  missed  nine  years  with 
her  that  might  have  been  the  happiest  of  his  life, 
through  it ! 

That  night  when  Conley  came  in  it  was  past  sup- 
per time.  He  said  that  the  fires  were  checked  at  much 
lower  levels  than  the  timber  line,  but  that  they  were 
burning  from  east  to  west  through  the  second  growth 
areas  which  stood  between  the  farming  country  and 
the  virgin  forest  on  the  summits.  Communication  be- 
tween the  Southern  valleys  and  his  camp  were  cut  off, 
it  was  fortunate  that  the  teamster  who  had  brought 
the  young  surveyor  had  fetched  with  him  a  liberal 
supply  of  provisions. 

Jonathan  felt  the  sense  of  isolation,  to  the  south 
were  conflagrations,  to  the  east  and  west,  forest, 
forest,  to  the  north,  the  forested  and  impassable  moun- 
tains. He  seemed  very  much  alone,  and  Vanessa 
very  far  away.  How  cozy  to  have  her  at  the  camp 
with  him — his  wife.  What  a  pity  it  had  been  ordain- 
ed that  she  should  not  have  been  his  helpmate  for  the 
past  nine  years.  What  a  joy  he  had  missed,  how 
much  further  advanced  in  the  spiritual  life  he  would 


250  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

have  been  through  her  if  she  had  loved  him  as  much 
as  he  had  her ! 

He  walked  out  along  the  lake  before  retiring,  the 
Mnoke  had  risen  to  the  high  altitudes  and  obscured 
the  stan;,  he  could  smell  it  in  the  air.  In  the  dark 
hemlocks  back  of  the  log  cabin  the  Peck  was  fluting 
his  "Toot-toot-a-loo." 

When  he  returned  to  the  cabin  he  found  several 
grimy  fire-fighters  talking  to  the  forester.  The  gist 
of  their  conversation  was  that  one  fire  in  a  deep 
ravine  was  within  half  a  mile  of  the  timber  line. 
Should  they  fight  it  all  night  or  wait  until  morning' 
The  air  was  so  heavy  there  might  be  a  shower.  Cot:- 
ley  insisted  that  they  keep  fighting  all  night,  dJil 
when  they  started  to  go  he  decided  to  accompany 
them  back  to  the  scene  of  their  operations  "to  get 
them  started  right."  The  young  surveyor  wanted  to 
go  along,  but  the  forester  advised  him  to  remain  and 
watch  the  camp. 

It  was  about  eleven  o'clock  when  he  retired.  The 
air  in  the  room  was  close,  so  he  threw  back  wide  the 
swinging  window  that  opened  out  on  the  porch  roof, 
even  though  it  admitted  the  smoke  that  was  settling 
down  over  the  mountain  top.  The  air  was  so  murky 
that  it  made  him  restless ;  he  was  slow  in  falling 
asleep,  and  his  mind  surged  with  unpleasant  thoughts. 

He  had  slept  probably  for  an  hour  or  two  when  he 
awoke  suddenly  and  sat  bolt  upright  in  bed.  Daylight 
was  approaching.  Some  one  was  at  the  window  look- 
ing in.  It  was  Vanessa.  She  wore  no  hat,  and  her 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  251 


hair,  parted  in  the  middle,  hung  in  uneven  strands  at 
the  sides  of  her  forehead.  There  were  patches  of' 
soot  on  her  cheeks.  Her  dress  was  torn  at  the  throat, 
the  sleeves  were  gone,  her  long  slim  arms  were  cov- 
ered with  soot,  as  were  the  palms  of  her  hands. 
Jonathan  was  amazed,  were  his  eyes  deceiving  him? 

"How  did  you  come  here  over  all  these  mountains, 
through  the  terrible  fires?"  he  gasped. 

In  answer  Vanessa  raised  her  hands,  the  soot  was 
more  like  burns  she  had  suffered  from  the  flames. 
Jonathan  brushed  back  the  hair  from  his  eyes  so  as 
to  see  more  clearly.  There  was  no  mistaking 
Vanessa,  and  she  was  probably  badly  hurt.  He  made 
;>  move  to  get  out  of  the  bed,  a  sudden  gust  of  air  shut 
the  window  with  a  bang.  Vanessa  was  not  outside 
the  pane  when  he  opened  it. 

It  was  all  a  dream,  one  of  those  strange  fantasies 
that  haunt  the  borderland  between  the  sleeping-  and 
the  waking  worlds,  but  are  pictorial  visitions  of 
realities.  There  was  nothing  left  to  do  but  to  clress 
and  go  down  stairs.  He  heard  sounds  in  the  lobby; 
was  Vanessa  down  there  waiting  for  him?  Despite 
all  his  doubts  he  had  some  faith  in  his  visitation.  It 
was  only  the  forester  building  a  fire  in  the  cook-stove. 

Jonathan  told  him  that  he  had  a  strange  dream 
which  upset  him,  and  went  outside  to  get  some  fresh 
air.  There  was  much  smoke  about,  though  Conley 
declared  that  the  fires  were  well  under  control. 

The  surveying  work  began  that  day  and  lasted  a 
month,  until  completed.  It  was  within  a  day  or  two 


252  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


of  thanksgiving  when  Jonathan  started  on  the  return 
drive  to  Muncy.  It  was  a  cold,  raw  day,  the  trees 
were  bare,  the  fallen  leaves  already  crisp  and  color- 
less. During  the  long  trip  he  was  buoyed  up  by  the 
thought  that  perhaps  one,  maybe  two  or  three  letters 
from  Vanessa  would  be  waiting  for  him  at  the  Post 
Office.  Conley,  who  accompanied  him,  must  have 
wondered  at  his  anxiety  to  reach  his  destination,  his 
strange  uncommunicativeness  on  the  way. 

They  got  as  far  as  Lairdsville  the  first  night,  would 
be  in  Muncy  easily  before  noon  the  next  day.  The 
young  surveyor  passed  a  restless  night,  to  be  so  near 
and  yet  so  far  from  news  of  one  he  loved.  He  was 
sure  of  his  love  now,  no  matter  what  his  imperfections 
were,  he  had  so  many  faults  he  should  not  have  de- 
manded perfection  when  not  constructed  that  way  him- 
self. He  had  lost  nine  or  ten  years,  perhaps  the  best  of 
his  life,  away  from  her;  what  had  he  gained.  Spirit- 
ually he  was  a  rolling  stone,  without  the  anchor  of 
love.  Next  morning  they  made  an  early  start.  The 
horses  seemed  to  fly  over  the  frosty  highway.  It  was 
?  little  before  noon  when  old  Muncy  town  was  reach- 
ed. He  asked  to  be  driven  first  to  the  Post  Office. 

Conley  asked  him  the  cause  of  his  anxiety.  Jon- 
athan smiled  and  looked  at  the  forester,  who  guessed. 
But  his  disappointment  was  keen,  as  there  was  no 
mail  for  him. 

During  the  afternoon  he  held  a  long  conference 
with  the  representatives  of  the  Philadelphia  esta*" 
who  were  disposing  of  the  North  Mountain  timbei  • 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  253 

lands  and  the  Williamsport  lumbermen  who  were 
acquiring  it.  Everything  passed  off  satisfactorily, 
but  he  was  glad  to  be  able  to  board  the  night  train 
east.  He  was  going  back  to  the  Junction  in  the 
South  Mountain  country.  All  the  way  down  in  the 
slow  train  he  tortured  himself.  It  was  Vanessa  who 
had  turned  the  tables  and  not  written.  Doubtless  she 
had  met  someone  else  she  cared  for,  and  he  deserved 
that  final  punishment.  Sometimes  in  the  old  days  he 
feared  that  she  cared  for  someone  and  it  had  caused 
him  much  unhappiness.  Was  it  too  late  to  overhaul  a 
fate  that  was  nearly  ten  years  gone  into  oblivion  ? 

It  was  midnight  when  he  reached  Harrisburg,  and 
noon  the  next  day  before  he  could  get  a  train  out  of 
there  on  the  Cumberland  Valley.  It  was  late  after- 
noon, Thanksgiving  Eve,  when  he  got  off  the  tiny 
unstable  train  at  the  Junction,  in  sight  of  the  South 
Mountains.  A  crowd  of  more  than  usual  proportions 
was  on  the  platform.  He  scanned  the  faces  to  see  if 
by  any  chance  Vanessa  was  among  them ;  she  was  not 
there  this  time.  He  quickly  walked  across  the  com- 
mon, where  the  'ranks  of  cord  wood  for  the  engines 
were  piled  in  endless  ranks — where  his  old  camp  had 
stood  in  '(54.  He  reached  the  village  street.  The 
maples  were  bare,  and  shook  and  shivered  in  the  even- 
ing wind.  A  few  lights  were  already  appearing  in 
the  windows  of  the  long  rows  of  cottages,  all  painted 
alike,  a  spotless  white.  Beyond  the  village  were  fields, 
and  at  the  foot  of  the  wooded  hill  by  the  creek  stood 
the  commodious  home  of  Vanessa's  parents  near  the 


254  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

old  red  mill.  There  was  but  a  single  light  visible  in 
an  upstairs  window,  which  looked  towards  the  village. 

Jonathan  had  eaten  nothing  since  breakfast;  he 
was  too  nervous  to  tarry  anywhere,  and  each  minute 
his  fast-beating  heart  seemed  pounding  a  thousand 
times  harder  against  his  breast.  Why  was  that  light 
it:  the  upstairs  window,  with  all  the  rest  of  the  house 
in  darkness  ?  Was  it  Vanessa's  room,  where  she  was 
stirring  herself  to  go  to  a  Thanksgiving  supper — 
with  ivhom? 

These  thoughts  spurred  him  on  to  taking  even 
longer  steps.  As  he  neared  the  house  he  looked  up 
a1;  the  window.  The  shade  was  not  drawn,  but  he 
could  see  no  one.  He  opened  the  old  fashioned 
\\rought  iron  gate,  where  Vanessa  and  he  had  stood 
in  any  evenings  together,  loathe  to  part,  even  postpon- 
ing the  fateful  "last  minute."  He  followed  the  brick 
path  around  to  the  side  door,  which  was  on  the  oppo- 
side  side  of  the  house  from  the  illuminated  window. 
There  was  a  light  within;  it  shone  through  the  stain- 
ed-glass transom,  but  the  shades  were  down. 

The  young  man  knocked,  less  hard  it  seemd  than 
his  heart  thumped  that  instant.  He  heard  footsteps ; 
it  was  only  a  moment  until  the  door  was  opened  and 
Vanessa's  mother  stood  before  him.  Slie  recognized 
him  instantly,  and  smiled. 

"Why,  if  it  isn't  Captain  Hastie.  Vanessa  told  me 
that  she  saw  you  one  evening  at  the  Junction  about 
six  or  seven  weeks  ago,  and  she  got  a  letter  or  two 
from  you." 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  255 

"How  is  she  ?  Is  she  at  home  ?  Where  is  she  ?" 
paid  Jonathan  impetuously. 

"Vanessa,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  met  with  a  very  pecu- 
liar accident  ahout  a  month  ago,"  replied  the  mother. 
"She  may  have  told  you  how  fond  she  always  was  of 
reading  at  night.  She  had  been  feeling  very  nervous 
for  a  couple  of  weeks  and  could  not  sleep.  She  was 
lying  in  bed  with  a  book,  with  a  candle  on  a  small 
table  by  the  bedstead  when  she  fell  into  a  dose,  turn- 
ing over  on  her  face,  her  usual  position.  It  was  a 
sultry  night  for  the  time  of  year,  and  the  window 
across  from  the  bed  was  wide  open.  Sometime  dur- 
ing the  night  a  gust  of  wind  must  have  upset  the 
candle,  for  it  set  fire  to  the  bedding,  and  the  dear 
girl's  hands  and  arms  were  frightfully  burned.  The 
strangest  part  of  it  all  is  that  she  slept  through  it  all 
until  morning.  She  has  suffered  a  great  deal ;  even 
now  she  is  feeling  far  from  comfortable." 

The  young  man  expressed  his  sorrow  at  the  acci- 
dent, and  asked  the  mother  if  he  might  see  the  girl 
?t  once.  The  mother  replied  in  the  affirmative  and 
went  to  apprise  her  of  his  coming.  Jonathan  was 
agitated  beyond  expression.  What  had  happened  that 
sultry  night  in  the  Impassable  Mountains  was  more 
than  a  dream  or  hallucination.  His  anguish  at 
Vanessa's  sufferings  was  unbounded,  for  perhaps  his 
('ream  had  caused  her  accident.  It  is  a  fearful  thing 
to  launch  a  thought. 

Soon  the  mother  returned  and  asked  the  young 
r-»an  to  follow  her.  She  said  that  Vanessa  was  de- 


256  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

lighted  to  hear  that  he  had  come.  On  the  way  up  the 
broad  old  fashioned  staircase  it  dawned  on  him  why 
Vanessa  had  not  written.  The  mother  opened  the 
door.  By  a  table,  on  which  was  an  oil  lamp  of  latest 
design,  sat  Vanessa,  her  dark  wavy  hair  parted  in  the 
middle.  A  cashmere  shawl  was  about  her  shoulders, 
her  arms  were  still  bandaged.  An  open  volume,  Cap- 
tain Francis  Grose's  "Popular  Superstitions,"  was 
propped  against  a  book-rest  on  the  table.  She  turned 
the  pages  with  a  penholder  in  her  lips.  Her  face 
loked  even  narrower  and  more  sallow  than  when  he 
saw  her  six  weeks  before,  but  to  him  even  more 
uniquely  beautiful.  She  started  to  get  up  as  he  ap- 
proached. Before  she  could  do  so  he  sprang  forward 
and  put  his  arms  around  her  neck  and  kissed  her 
many  times  on  her  pretty  mouth,  so  much  in  form 
and  color  like  a  coral  brooch,  pouring  out  the  pent- 
up  love  of  years.  Amid  the  kisses  she  made  out  to 
whisper : 

"How  did  you  get  here  over  all  these  mountains?" 

"I  believe  I  have  heard  you  say  that  before,"  said 
Jonathan,  to  her  great  astonishment. 

"Where,  tell  me  where,"  she  said  eagerly.  With- 
out waiting  for  him  to  reply  she  continued:  "What 
a  grand  surprise  for  Thanksgiving  Eve,"  her  eyes 
lighting  up  with  unfeigned  delight.  "Now  you  can 
see  why  I  did  not  write." 

As  she  spoke  she  held  up  her  two  bandaged  hands. 

The  mother  had  long  suspected  the  admiration 
which  Vanessa  felt  for  Jonathan ;  it  had  caused  her 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  257 


much  uneasiness.  It  made  her  happy  when  she  saw 
how  deeply  it  was  reciprocated,  despite  all  the  years 
01  separation.  She  noiselessly  withdrew  from  the 
room,  shutting  the  door.  Then  the  young  lover,  still 
holding  his  arms  around  her  neck,  and  with  IT.J 
cheek  pressed  close  to  hers,  told  Vanessa  of  his  weird 
visitation  in  the  log  cabin  among  the  Impassable 
Mountains.  Dates  were  compared;  the  night  he  had 
seen  Vanessa's  Rede  at  the  open  window  was  the 
very  night  that  she  had  been  so  mysteriously  burned 
in  her  bed. 

"I  was  thinking  of  you,  oh,  so  much  that  night,  I 
could  get  no  satisfaction  from  the  book.  I  must  have 
fallen  to  sleep  with  the  desire  to  see  you  so  strong 
that  J  had  to  travel  to  that  tire-swept  country  to  do 
so,  and  got  burned  on  the  way !" 

''And  you  came  to  me,  across  all  those  mountains, 
through  the  fires,"  said  Jonathan.  "And  though  you 
suffered  cruelly,  it  was  the  flame  of  our  love  which 
has  been  burning  so  long,  and  which  was  so  well  con- 
cealed that  burst  forth,  and  it  shall  never  again  cause 
you  pain  in  this  world  or  the  next." 


XIX.    The  Scalp  Bounty 

THE  month  past  had  been  an  unremunerative  one 
for  the  Rangers.  No  proscribed  or  outlaw 
Indians  had  crossed  their  path,  hence  no 
scalps  had  been  brought  in.  This  scalp  bounty  made 
a  nice  addition  to  the  otherwise  slim  pay  of  the 
Rangers ;  they  pursued  the  chase  of  redskins  for 
financial  reasons  more  than  to  satisfy  the  law  of  re- 
prisal. When  the  scalp  bounty  lapsed  the  day  of  the 
Rangers  was  done,  they  resigned  and  deserted,  or  re- 
tired at  the  expiration  of  their  enlistments,  just  as 
the  modern  "government  man"  in  the  West  would 
quit  the  service  if  the  bloodthirsty  Biological  Survey 
stopped  paying  rewards  on  the  scalps  of  coyotes,  wild 
cats  or  prairie  dogs.  But  towards  the  last  days  of  the 
scalp  bounty  it  was  scarcity  of  Indians  rather  than  any 
other  cause  that  reduced  the  sum  total  of  the  pay- 
ments. 

The  drop  in  the  number  of  scalps  brought  in  caused 
Maclay  to  suggest  supplying  the  Rangers  with  blood- 
hounds so  as  to  facilitate  the  slaughter.  On  this  par- 
ticular month  there  was  a  growing  restlessness  among 
the  scalp  hunters  owing  to  poor  results.  No  one  had 
been  able  to  even  pick  a  quarrel  with  a  squaw  and 
have  her  run  howling  to  an  encampment  to  arouse  the 
warriors  to  righteous  indignation,  thereby  supplying 
the  Rangers  with  an  acceptable  excuse  for  a  massa- 
cre— and  lots  of  scalps. 

Among  the  officers  Captains  Peter  Pentz  and  Peter 

258 


i  Lincoln  Highway 

Looking  Towards 
Gettysburg 


XIX.    The  Scalp  Bounty 


Ti  i  }:.  rr.omh  past  had  been  an  unremunerative  one 
ft)''-    the    Rangers.      No   proscribed  or   outlaw 
in<!;au>    had    crossed    their    path,    hence    no 
scalps  h;m  been  brought  in.     This  scaip  bounty  made 
a    MK'.-    addition    to    the    otherwise    s4ini    pay    of    the 
i\;iiii,M  •  >  ;    they    pursued    (he    chase    of    redskins    for 
tina,  ri.-ii   -,'c.isons  more  than  to  satisfy  the  law  of  re- 
Tiris'I.     \\  hen  T'IK-  scai     bount     ia.'ed  tlie  da     of  the 


wa 


on   of   their   enlistmei 


•fted,  or  re- 
ts,  just   as 
est    would 
cal  Survey 
votes,  wild 
lays  of  the 
;r  than  any 
] O'   the   pay- 


.re  iiun)l>er  of  :v-a!j»  "urouglit  in  caused 

lot  supplying  ti-e  Rangers  with  blood- 
•'aciiitatt,.  thr  -laugliter.  (  >n  this  par- 

:;e-e  wa.=  a  .er-twing  res' ie> -ness  among 

•••A  ing  >•"•  j.ioor  results.     Xn  one  had 

.•n    |  ;ck   a  f|uarr<:-l    with  a   squaw  and 

'\\i-u^  :•••  an  etica'iipnient  to  arouse  the. 

.•  ite'ii's   indignation,   thereby    supplying 

••lit  a 71  acceptable  excuse   for  a  inassa- 

f  scalps. 

ifnccr--  (.';ii>i.';ins  IVter  Pentz  and  Peter 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  259 

Grove  and  Lieutenant  Grove  obtained  leave  of  ab- 
sence to  go  up  country  and  look  after  their  corn. 
Genevieve  Loverhill,  Lieutenant  Michael  Grove's  girl 
orderly,  naturally  of  a  restless  disposition,  decided  to 
take  a  hunting  trip  to  the  headwaters  of  White  Deer 
Creek.  The  desired  quarry  was  to  be  an  elk's  calf  in 
its  spotted  coat,  not  that  the  hide  was  of  much  value, 
even  when  tanned  with  salt,  but  just  to  bag  one  of 
the  pretty  little  creatures. 

Leaving  the  camp  at  the  mouth  of  Buffalo  Path 
Run,  the  fearless  girl,  who  was  known  as  "Loverhill 
of  the  Rangers"  and  "The  Indian  Killer,"  started  alone 
for  the  waters  of  White  Deer,  where  on  the  high 
tablelands  among  the  open  groves  of  yellow  pines,  the 
cow  elks  and  their  young  were  fond  of  summering. 
Loverhill  followed  the  South  Branch  in  the  direction 
of  Hope  Valley,  where  at  the  Shraeder  Spring  the 
creek  has  its  heading.  Out  on  the  divide  towards 
the  source  of  Elk  Creek,  there  were  innumerable  elk 
families  in  certain  seasons  when  pasturage  was  to 
their  liking.  The  young  huntress  followed  the  top  of 
the  ridge  on  the  Winter  side  of  the  valley,  finding 
many  traces  of  game.  As  she  had  left  the  camp  at 
daybreak,  it  looked  as  if  a  calf  would  fall  to  her  un- 
erring aim  before  sunset. 

In  Freclericks's  Gap  she  came  close  to  a  band  o'f 
bull  elks,  their  superb  antlers  just  coming  out  of  the 
velvet,  the  long  tattered  shreds  suspended  to  them 
like  the  "old  man's  beard"  moss  that  hangs  from  the 
cypress  trees  in  a  southern  swamp.  Ordinarily  she 


260 


would  have  killed  two  or  three  just  for  the  sport  of 
seeing  them  fall,  but  on  this  occasion  she  hoped  that 
on  the  way  a  stray  Indian  might  be  apprehended  and 
a  shot  fired  at  random  at  a  bull  elk  would  put  the 
marked  men  on  their  guard. 

In  places  where  there  had  been  windfalls  among 
the  giant  hemlocks,  and  she  could  see  the  sky,  the  day 
was  one  of  rare  beauty.  The  clouds  were  fleecy  and 
white,  as  they  always  are  when  the  Keewaydin  or 
North  West  Wind  is  blowing.  In  the  late  afternoon, 
when  the  lengtheing  of  the  shadows  tended  toward 
the  golden  hour,  ''the  hour  of  peace  and  plenty,"  the 
Indians  called  it.  as  she  softly  crept  along  a  bench 
on  the  slope  of  Tunis'  Knob,  there  was  little  under- 
brush, only  row  after  row  of  giant  hemlocks  like 
swart  smooth  pillars  upholding  the  azure  and  gold 
canopy,  she  noticed  a  splendid  cow  elk  followed  by 
her  pretty  mottled  calf  moving  along  on  the  mossy 
bank  of  the  creek,  in  the  direction  of  the  source. 
They  were  out  of  gunshot,  and  as  she  took  a  few 
steps  down  the  steep  slope  to  get  closer,  she  noted  an 
Indian  following  in  wake,  perhaps  three  hundred 
yards  to  the  eastward.  Probably  he  carried  an  anti- 
quated musket  and  must  fire  at  close  range ;  if  Lover- 
hill  had  been  in  his  place  the  calf  would  have  fallen 
long  before.  Here  was  a  chance  of  securing  the  calf 
?nd  a  fine  warrior's  scalp  besides,  "killing  two  birds 
with  one  stone,"  so  she  deftly  sprang  behind  an  un- 
usually thick  hemlock,  unseen  by  elks  or  Indians.  As 
she  watched  the  silent  procession  of  hunted  and  hunt- 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  261 

er  in  the  vale  beneath,  she  reasoned  the  matter  about 
as  follows :  The  Indian  will  follow  the  elks  to  the 
spring  and  kill  them  there.  Then  he  will  skin  them 
and  bivouac  for  the  night.  If  he  does  he  will  be  easily 
approached  and  shot.  Then  with  one  shot  elks  and 
Indian  would  be  obtained. 

There  was  a  natural  clearing  about  the  spring 
where  animals  and  Indians  had  drunk  and  rested  for 
untold  centuries.  If  this  particular  redman  camped 
there  he  would  light  a  fire,  and  the  smoke  even  of  a 
small  fire  would  come  up  through  the  trees ;  he  could 
be  stalked  and  killed  by  his  fireside. 

Just  at  the  last  moments  of  the  golden  hour,  as  the 
sun  began  to  set  behind  the  Western  knobs,  three 
shots  rang  out  on  the  still  air.  Presumably  the  shots 
were  successful,  the  elks  had  fallen.  The  declining 
sun  spread  out  a  mass  of  salmon  pink  surcharged  with, 
ashes  of  roses  as  it  sank  in  purple  splendor  behind 
the  pine  clad  summits.  There  was  a  very  decided 
dullness  to  the  atmosphere,  as  there  always  is  when 
summer  wanes. 

Loverhill  standing  by  the  giant  hemlock  almost 
wished  for  a  campfire  herself.  She  felt  hungry  and 
n'bbled  at  a  sugar  cookie  which  she  took  from  her 
knapsack.  As  darkness  fell  she  climbed  the  big  hem- 
lock to  the  very  top — no  squirrel  could  have  done  it 
more  deftly — and  with  her  long  slim  legs  and  arms 
securely  gripped  about  the  swaying  topmost  twigs, 
she  awaited  developments  on  the  plateau  beyond. 
As  she  watched,  the  old  shaggy  yellow  pines  on  the 


262  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

ridge  became  like  masses  of  black  velvet  against  the 
starlit  sky.  Then  curled  upward  a  thin  trail  of  smoke 
like  grey  thread,  such  as  can  only  come  from  an  Indian 
camprire,  the  reclmen  always  priding  themselves  on 
the  smallness  of  their  fires. 

The  time  for  action  had  arrived.  Quietly,  quickly 
and  surely  as  a  wildcat  descends  on  its  prey,  Lover- 
hill  slid  from  her  perch  on  the  tree  and  climbed  down 
the  mountain  among  the  tall  straight  hemlocks  that 
looked  so  much  like  columns  straight  from  the  black 
vault  of  the  heavens.  It  was  a  long  climb  and  a 
tedious  one,  under  such  circumstances  of  stealth. 
She  crept  behind  one  tree  after  another,  always  paus- 
ing after  each  step,  but  the  only  sound  was  the  gurgle 
of  the  brook  over  the  stones.  As  she  neared  the 
camprire  she  observed  that  it  was  now  smoking  pro- 
fusely, the  Indian  must  be  asleep  'else  he  would  not 
allow  it  to  burn  so  low.  Since  Indians  were  hunted 
for  their  scalps  they  always  extinguished  their  fires 
before  retiring  for  the  night;  rangers  might  pass  with- 
in a  few  feet  of  sleeping  redmen  and  not  suspect  their 
nearness  on  a  black  night.  Hence  Maclay's  sugges- 
tion to  use  bloodhounds.  This  must  be  a  very  care- 
less Indian. 

Loverhill  primed  her  rifle  and  crept  on  her 
stomach  to  the  border  of  the  natural  clearing  in  the 
centre  of  which  rose  the  rich,  cool  spring,  its  banks 
a  swaying  mass  of  cresses.  By  the  embers  of  the 
campfire  she  saw  the  unskinned  carcasses  of  the  cow 
elk  and  her  calf.  It  was  as  she  suspected — the  red- 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  263 


man  had  killed  both.  But  why  had  the  Indian  aban- 
doned them  so  soon?  There  were  no  signs  of  him 
c-nywhere. 

To  make  sure,  she  made  a  complete  circle  of  the 
boundaries  of  the  clearing  on  her  hands  and  knees  ; 
the  redskin  was  neither  at  its  edges  nor  within  it. 
Resolutely  she  strode  into  the  center  of  the  open  space. 
P>y  the  border  of  the  clearing,  well  in  the  shadows  of 
the  forest,  was  the  half-decayed  trunk  of  a  black  birch 
?nd  on  it  she  sat  holding  the  long  barrel  of  her  rifle 
between  her  two  white  hands.  She  concluded  that 
the  Indian  had  found  the  track  of  some  other  animal, 
perhaps  a  bear,  and  had  followed  it;  he  would  be  back 
to  secure  the  best  of  the  elks,  as  the  Indians  never 
killed  for  pastime.  She  would  down  him  across  the 
carcasses  of  his  quarries. 

Hut  he  was  a  very  long  time  coming  back.  It  was 
a  period  of  ennui,  such  as  brings  to  active  imagina- 
tions all  sorts  of  fancies,  grave  and  gay,  ending  in 
those  niostlv  of  the  heart  and  romance,  \\ith  Lover- 
hill  the  thoughts  were  eventually  of  Captain  Goheen. 
whom  she  had  seen  and  loved  the  year  before  at  Peter 
Allen's.  She  had  refused  all  his  expressions  of  hope 
for  a  furtherance  of  their  acquaintance,  had  turned 
her  back  on  him,  as  it  were.  It  was  for  the  best,  she 
was  a  wild  mountain  girl  who  had  dressed  as  a  lad 
and  killed  Indians  for  the  scalp  bounty  for  three 
years  ;  what  sort  of  a  companion  could  she  make  for 
a  gentleman  of  culture  and  refinement  like  Captain 
Cecil  Goheen,  of  Philadelphia,  and  heir  of  Ashtoun 


264 


Hall,  County  Armagk,  Ireland,  and  the  whole  of 
Armagh  Township,  Cumberland  County,  Pennsylva- 
nia ?  But  she  could  not  eradicate  the  impression  he 
bad  made  on  her.  It  came  up  with  heart-breaking 
vividness  this  chilly,  lonesome  night  while  waiting  for 
<he  return  of  the  Indian  elk  slayer.  Perhaps  they 
would  have  been  happy,  if  he  was  right  and  she  was 
wrong.  For  instance,  should  he  own  the  choice  tract 
where  the  Shraeder  Spring  bubbled  out  from  the 
earth,  it  would  have  made  an  ideal  Manor.  The  roll- 
ing slopes  of  the  hills  which  surrounded  the  spring 
could  be  cleared  and  turned  into  corn  fields  and 
orchards,  a  few  gnarled  Indian  apple  and  plum  trees 
back  of  the  spring  told  of  its  previous  use  by  the  cop- 
per-colored aborigines.  To  clean  up  this  beautiful 
valley  would  have  given  the  youthful  Captain  a 
definite  life's  work;  he  would  be  like  the  noblemen  of 
Europe  about  whose  castles  and  grandeur  old  Corin- 
nus  Michael  delighted  to  tell  of  at  her  father's  ingle- 
nook  in  the  old  days  on  Switzer  Run  near  the 
Karoondinha.  They  could  even  build  a  castle  and 
tower  on  the  top  of  Tunis'  Knob  and  dominate  the 
entire  watershed  of  the  South  Branch  of  White 
Deer ! 

She  pressed  the  barrel  of  the  rifle  against  her  cheek 
and  covered  her  eyes  with  her  long  fingers.  Why 
had  she  let  him  go  away?  \Yhy  had  she  refused  his 
preferred  gift  of  a  cape  made  from  the  fur  of  Black 
Cats  or  Fishers?  She  had  admired  Lieutenant  Grove 
for  his  bravery,  that  was  all.  but  his  spell  had  been 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  265 


cast  three  years  ago  and  she  was  wiser  now.  Beyond 
these  there  was  no  one  else  from  the  Beautiful  River 
to  the  Lehigh  that  she  cared  a  straw  about,  white  man 
or  Indian.  Captain  Goheen,  from  the  Big  World,  was 
her  ideal. 

With  closed  eyes  she  pictured  their  life  together 
devloping  a  vast  backwoods  district ;  it  would  all  turn 
out  so  harmoniously  and  easily.  In  time,  if  he  wished 
to  revisit  Philadelphia  or  Carlisle  she  would  by  her 
ability  and  devotion  wipe  out  the  sanguinary  past ; 
she  would  study  in  spare  moments,  so  much  so  that 
she  could  pass  muster  with  the  elite,  should  she  ac- 
company him.  She  would  forget  how  proud  she 
once  was  when  Captain  John  Brady  styled  her  in  a 
Deport  "Loverhill  of  the  Rangers;"  "Lady  Goheen,  of 
of  Armagh,"  sounded  far  nicer. 

Just  at  that  period  of  her  highly  colored  dreams  a 
doleful  wail  rang  out  upon  the  frosty  night.  It  came 
from  the  ridge  on  the  north  side  of  the  valley  and 
was  not  as  loud  as  the  first  tones  of  the  howl  of  the 
Pennsylvania  lion  and  too  strident  for  that  of  a  wild 
cat.  Loverhill  had  never  heard  it  outside  of  the 
Northern  Mountains,  where  it  had  its  habitat.  It 
\:as  the  cutter  waul  of  the  P>ig  Grey  Wild  Cat  or 
Canada  Lynx,  an  animal  rarely  found  south  of  the 
West  Branch  of  the  Susquehanna,  except  along  the 
main  chain  of  'the  Alleghenies.  Evidently  the  big 
feline  had  smelled  the  carcasses  of  the  elks  and  was 
stealing  down  the  mountain  in  the  direction  of  the 
Spring. 


266  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


Loverhill's  mood  changed  instantly.  She  forgot 
temporarily  about  Captain  Goheen  and  the  Big 
World.  Her  thoughts  were  focused  on  her  chances 
of  killing  the  Lynx.  In  another  minute  the  sharp 
crack  of  a  rifle  rang  out  from  the  same  vicinity  on 
the  mountain.  The  girl -smiled  inwardly. 

"I'll  get  the  elks,  the  grey  cat  and  the  Indian  as 
well."  She  examined  the  rifle,  it  was  primed;  she 
assumed  an  alert  position  to  wait  for  the  appearance 
of  the  Indian,  who  would  now  surely  return  to  the 
spring  with  his  latest  victim.  It  was  not  long  before 
she  heard  the  redman  coming;  his  pace  was  slow,  for 
he  was  dragging  the  carcass  of  a  fifty  pound  "link''  to 
skin  it  by  the  firelight. 

A  gust  of  wind  blew  into  flame  the  embers,  throw- 
ing a  lurid  glow  into  the  vault-like  recesses  of  the 
forest.  Loverhill's  curiosity  to  see  the  Indian's  face 
before  firing  caused  her  to  hesitate  an  instant.  When 
she  saw  who  the  Indian  was,  instead  of  shooting  she 
called  out  in  Pennsylvania  Dutch,  a  language  which 
all  Indians  understood,  "Hend  Uff." 

The  redman  dropped  his  rifle  and  the  Lynx  at  the 
same  time,  and  walked  calmly  up  to  the  campfire. 
Loverhill  advanced  to  meet  him,  handing  him  her 
primed  rifle  as  a  mark  of  amity. 

"Why  if  this  isn't  old  Joe  Pan,  the  Pequot,"  she 
laughed. 

The  aged  redman  looked  at  her  with  his  little  shoe- 
button  eyes,  then  burst  out  laughing  so  loudly  that 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  267 


they  disappeared  altogether  behind  the  folds  of  his  big 
fat  cheeks. 

"You're  'Loverhill  of  the  Rangers,'  I  think  v  they 
call  you  now.  I  told  old  Abe,  your  father,  you'd  grow 
up  to  be  as  great  a  tighter  as  any  boy  and  take  the 
place  of  the  sons  he  lost  when  the  canoe  upset  in 
Sunrish  Pond.  I'm  glad  to  see  you  out  here." 

Then  Genevieve  sat  down  beside  him  while  he  put 
more  twigs  on  the  tire  and  frankly  told  him  how  she 
had  plotted  to  fell  an  Indian  on  the  carcasses  of  the 
elks.  Joe  Pan  did  not  think  any  the  less  of  her  for  this 
recital,  for  it  was  a  stern  age,  an  age  of  blood  and 
reprisals,  and  anyone  who  had  killed  or  could  kill 
was  the  more  respected. 

Joe  Pan  was  a  character  in  his  way  in  the  Penn- 
sylvania Mountains.  Horn  near  the  sources  of  the 
Housatonic  Rive,  he  was  a  descendant  of  the  remnant 
of  the  Pequots  who  retired  to  that  wiM  region  of 
Northwestern  Connecticut  after  the  Great  Swamp 
Fight  in  !(>;>?.  He  had  followed  Martin  Mack  to 
Pennsylvania  as  a  small  bov ;  a  brother  was  a  chief  in 
the  Pequot  Reservation  on  the  Housatonic.  he  had 
tired  of  civilization  at  Herrnhut  and  fled  to  the  interior. 
Tie  fell  in  with  three  Spaniards  from  the  Minisink, 
Ganoe,  Gunsaulus  and  Xunez,  bound  for  the  South 
Mountains,  and 'trapped  and  traded  and  ranged  through 
that  region  with  them  for  several  year-;.  He  had 
fought  the  whites  and  for  them  ;  he  was  now  so  old  he 
had  lost  count  of  his  years,  but  was  able  always  to 
elude  the  scalp  hunters. 


268  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


After  discussing  the  old  times  with  Loverhill  he 
dragged  the  huge  Lynx  up  to  the  fireside  preparatory 
to  skinning  it.  "They  call  this  animal  the  catamount 
here,"  he  said,  "but  in  New  England  we  give  that 
name  to  the  panther." 

Genevieve  noticed  the  big,  grey-blue  eyes  on  the 
carcass,  eyes  that  gleamed  and  glittered  like  blue 
diamonds,  even  in  death. 

"Do  you  know  the  power  of  those  eyes?"  asked  the 
Pequot,  noting  her  curiosity.  "\Yhen  the  animal  is 
alive  it  can  look  through  rocks  or  trees ;  persons  with 
good  eyesight  are  called  lynx-eyed,  you  know.  If  you 
hold  one  of  them  up  to  the  firelight  you  can  see 
through  it  to  any  part  of  the  world  you  have  a  mind 
to;  if  you  boil  one  of  them  in  a  little  water  you  can 
bring  any  person  you  desire  to  your  side." 

"Please  cut  out  those  eyes  and  give  them  to  me," 
said  Loverhill,  trembling  with  anguish. 

Joe  Pan  did  as  requested  and  handed  one  over  to 
her.  She  held  it  up  to  the  campfire's  ruddy  light. 
Her  waxen  face  assumed  an  even  more  ghastly  hue 
as  she  gazed  into  it  transfixed.  In  it  she  saw  a  large 
gorgeously  decorated  room,  brilliantly  lighted  by 
myriads  of  candles.  It  was  filled  with  handsome  men 
in  military  costumes  and  beautiful  young  women  in 
flounced  satin  gowns,  and  powdered  hair  worn  high 
on  their  heads.  Some  were  dancing,  others  talking 
togther  in  corners,  or  drinking  punch  from  bowls 
served  by  liveried  Negro  servants.  In  the  most  re- 
mote corner,  in  an  alcove,  screened  from  the  rest  of 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  269 


the  room  by  a  portiere,  she  beheld  Captain  Goheen 
in  close  conversation  with  a  perfect  Watteau  picture 
of  feminine  loveliness.  He  was  holding  her  hands, 
while  soon  she  leaned  her  pretty  head  against  hit 
shoulder,  and  he  kissed  her  many  times. 

With  her  iron  nerve  shattered,  the  nerve  that  had 
slain  a  hundred  Indians,  old  and  young,  Loverhill  of 
the  Rangers,  gulping  back  a  sob,  flung  the  cat's  eye 
into  the  fire. 

Meanwhile  the  Pequot  had  been  boiling  the  other 
eye  in  a  small  earthen  pot  that  he  had  brought  with 
him  from  Wyoming.  Seeing  her  fling  away  the  eye 
that  she  had  been  looking  through,  he  started  to 
empty  the  vessel  into  the  fire.  Genevieve  caught  him 
by  the  wrist  before  all  the  precious  liquid  was  spent. 

''Drink  it  quickly,"  the  Indian  whispered;  "I  do  not 
think  the  presence  can  last  long  on  such  a  small  dose, 
but  you  will  get  some  result." 

The  girl  drank  the  potion;  it  tasted  like  sweet  glue. 
Immediately  the  magnificent  form  of  Captain  Cecil 
Goheen,  in  full  regimentals,  bearing  no  end  of  medals 
pnd  a  jeweled  rapier,  stood  by  the  fading  light  of  the 
campfire.  The  presence  was  so  real  that  Joe  Pan 
ground  his  teeth ;  he  would  have  liked  to  kill  the 
(.\-(]iiisite  for  his  fine  trimmings. 

''For  heaven's  sake,  why  do  you  bring  me  to  this 
(  utlandish  place?"  he  exclaimed  pettishly.  Then  his 
eyes  rested  on  Genevieve  and  a  happy  smile  lit  up  his 
hitherto  petulant  features. 

"Oh.  it  is  you  who  brought  me  here;  I  thought  I 


270  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


had  fainted  from  the  heat  of  the  ballroom."  The  idea 
cf  a  man  fainting  was  too  much  for  Loverhill  of  the 
Rangers,  handsome  as  he  was  and  loving  him  as  she 
did,  his  condescension,  his  effeteness  were  galling. 
Rushing  up  to  him  like  a  lioness,  she  was  as  tall  as 
lie  was,  she  seized  him  by  the  shoulders  and  shook 
him  as  a  cat  would  a  mouse. 

"Who  was  that  woman  you  were  embracing  in 
the  alcove  How  dare  you  make  love  to  her  after  all 
your  protestations  to  me  last  winter  at  Peter  Allen's  ? 
I — I,  who  sent  you  away  because  I  loved  you  with 
all  my  life,  and  feared  that  a  backwoods  girl  like  me 
could  not  make  you  happy,  must  now  bear  witness 
the  briefness  and  shallowness  of  your  affections. 
Here  in  the  mountains  when  we  say  lore  it  means 
for  life.  I  love  you  and  I  can  kill  you." 

Holding  him  by  the  gold  lace  lapel  of  his  sparkling 
uniform  with  her  right  hand,  she  drew  her  long  bear 
knife  from  its  sheath  with  her  left.  Raising  the 
gleaming  blade  aloft,  she  flourished  it  about  as  if  to 
rip  off  the  young  officer's  scalp.  The  bear  knife 
pierced  thin  air.  The  draught  from  the  half-filled 
bowl  had  not  been  sufficient  to  keep  the  presence 
longer.  The  shade  of  Captain  Goheen  faded  away 
back  to  the  cool  air  of  the  portico  of  the  ballroom 
near  the  festive  surroundings  that  suited  it  best. 

Joe  Pan,  the  Pequot,  took  advantage  of  the  tense 
moment  to  disappear  into  the  gloom  of  the  wilderness, 
leaving  the  carcasses  of  elks  and  lynx  behind. 

Loverhill    of   the    Rangers    was    stark   mad    in    the 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  271 


forest  for  several  days.  Pat  Mucklehenny  met  her 
brandishing  her  scalping  knife  and  muttering  to  her- 
self near  the  headwaters  of  Love  Run;  he  led  her  to 
his  cabin  on  the  \Yest  Branch  near  the  mouth  of 
Tiadaghton  where  she  finally  recovered  and  went  back 
to  join  her  command  at  the  mouth  of  Buffalo  Path 
Run. 

In  military  and  social  circles  it  was  whispered  about 
that  during  the  grand  ball  given  to  celebrate  the  prob- 
able 're-occupation  of  the  City  of  Philadelphia  by  the 
Colonial  Army,  doubtless  owing  to  the  crush  and  the 
lack  of  ventilation,  Captain  Cecil  Goheen  had  sudden- 
]\  fallen  to  the  floor  in  a  swoon.  "When  he  recovered 
and  hour  later,  he  told  of  a  strange  vision  he  had  ex- 
perienced, of  being  in  a  dark  forest,  of  an  attack  by 
some  one  with  a  scalping  knife.  It  was  weeks  before 
he  recovered  his  equilibrium  and  returned  to  his 
sumptuous  quarters  at  Fort  Washington.  But  he 
could  not  obliterate  this  terrible  dream  to  his  dying 
day.  the  very  sight  of  an  unsheathed  dagger  sending 
Ir'm  into  paroxysms  of  nervous  excitement  and  tears, 
yet  he  never  forgot  the  night  spent  at  Peter  Allen's. 


XX.    Mary  Casselman,  Redemptioner 

WHEN  young  Patterson  Irvine  returned  from 
an  unsuccessful  chase  after  a  stray-  buffalo, 
which  chase  had  consumed  more  than  a 
week  and  led  him  far  into  the  wilds  of  what  is  now 
Sullivan  County,  he  rather  sheepishly  entered  the 
manor  house  through  a  side  entrance.  It  was  in  the 
late  afternoon,  and  the  bright  rays  of  the  September 
sun  were  shining  into  the  great  hall  through  the  front 
door,  which  stood  open.  He  was  surprised  to  see. 
seated  on  a  small  chair,  with  her  back  turned  to  him, 
sewing,  the  figure  of  a  young  and  slender  girl. 
Though  she  heard  him  open  and  shut  the  door,  and 
his  footsteps  on  the  deal  floor,  she  did  not  turn 
around.  The  young  man  watched  her,  as  he  ascend- 
ed the  staircase  to  his  room ;  she  must  be  very  pretty 
if  a  rear  view  could  be  a  guarantee.  He  noticed  that 
she  had  wavy,  soft  brown  hair,  her  smooth  cheek 
was  pink  like  a  peach,  her  white  neck  was  graceful, 
the  lines  of  her  form  discernible  through  a  chc.u> 
clinging  frock  of  pink  material  were  curved  and  sup- 
ple, Junoesque. 

He  was  quite  overcome  by  the  charm  of  the  un- 
known, so  much  so  that  he  forgot  the  pique  of  his 
unproductive  hunt,  and  left  off  abusing  inwardly  the 
stupidity  of  the  Indian  servants  who  had  accom- 
panied him  in  the  capacity  of  "beaters."  He  used 
particular  care  to  look  well  that  night,  he  washed 
and  exchanged  his  rough  hunters'  garb  for  his  best 

272 


A  Distant  View 
of 

Buchanan  Valley 

• 


XX.    Mary  Casselman,  Redemptioner 

\\  7  ' '  '"^    >'^UT1g   Patterson    Irvine    returned    from 

a:.t  unsuccessful  chase  after  a  stray  buffalo. 

vhich    chase    had    consumed    mure    than    a 

weejr  M.:d  led  hv.n  far  into  the  wilds  of  what  is  now 

S'.tlli-  .•••    Ootmu,    he    rather    .sheepishly    entered    the 

!"ari<"-  house  *:;r"ugli  a  side  entrance.     It  \va>>  in  the 

!£!••  :('!..ernoon    .ind  *he  bright  rays  of  the  September 

••:'.;     vert-  shiru^  inio  the  great  hall  through  the  front 

i    to   see. 
'nod  to  him. 
lender    girl. 
L.   door,  and 
d    not    turi« 
lie  a  seen  d- 
\'ery  pretty 
•!  that 
th    cheek 


s:ure    *. 

w»r 

neard   tin 


•   ""    A 
A 


t- 


.'/a>    i"iK   hkr   ,i  ]>ea'v"i.  her  while   neck    .• 
!'('    hut-    of    her    form    disci  -;:i;iu;    throuyii    a    ch<  .in 
-.  li-'U'iiM   ;  rock  of  ])ink  material  were,  cui'veii  and  s:i- 


;r.  te     ^rrcoint.    !.-}•    the   charm   "f   tlio   un- 

Mad:    so   ih.it    he    forgoi    [he   pique   of    in-; 

-•H5ii!.  ann   lv_fi   off  ahu.-.ing   ii:.\vard!y  the 

-';v>idi'"  fl'ie    iiii'ian    -ci'vani-S    who    had    accom- 

].ii".;ei!     •"•}"'      •    tin-    eapa  .'it  v    of    "beaters."      i  ic    useil 

:  -a"'"  icnl.r     \^'t:    to    look    well    that    ni^ht,    la    \\asin.-d 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  273 


broadcloth,  and  he  looked  spick  and  span  and  very 
manly  for  a  lad  in  his  sixteenth  year.  At  the  supper 
table  he  made  light  of  his  disappointments  in  the 
forest ;  his  mother,  as  well  as  his  brothers  and  sis- 
ters, all  younger,  were  surprised  at  his  cheerful  de- 
meanor, usually  so  different  when  his  hunting  luck 
was  poor. 

He  kept  casting  glances,  under  his  eyelids,  at  the 
slim  demure  girl  who  waited  on  the  table.  The  pink 
dress  she  wore  set  off  the  rose-tint  of  her  cheeks,  a 
color  so  delicate  and  shell-like  as  to  suggest  to  a 
modern  observer  some  trace  of  weakness  in  the 
throat  or  lungs.  It  made  him  think  of  the  words  of 
the  Irish  poet,  "The  rose  and  the  lily  were  fighting 
together  in  her  face."  Her  clear-cut  features  were 
accurately  proportioned,  the  curves  of  her  red  mouth 
especally  pretty ;  her  eyes  were  a  violet  hue,  her 
lashes  were  long  and  black,  her  brows  dark  and  nicely 
arched.  There  was  something  so  muscular  and 
voluptuous  about  her  legs,  which  showed  through  her 
calico  dress  as  she  moved  about  the  table.  Her  hands 
were  white  and  shapely,  hardly  the  hands  of  a  work- 
ing girl.  The  young  heir  of  the  manor  longed  to 
squee/x'  them  before  the  supper  was  half  over,  for  he 
was  hot-blooded,  with  all  the  precocious  maturity  of 
the  frontier. 

The  girl  was  conscious  of  his  interest  in  her.  for 
she  lowered  her  eyes  whenever  he  looked  at  her ;  his 
thought  waves  were  radiating  towards  her  though 
not  a  word  was  said.  After  supper,  by  the  inglenook, 


274  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


the  mother  mentioned  the  newcomer  to  her  son.  The 
girl,  she  said,  was  a  Redemptioner  from  the  Palatine 
country,  whom  the  young  man's  father  had  brought 
with  him  from  Lanacaster.  It  seemed  foolish  to  have 
taken  the  giri  when  she  had  but  six  months  to  serve,  but 
she  had  been  highly  recommended  for  her  needlework, 
and  being  of  pleasant  appearance  the  "Colonel,"  as 
they  called  the  elder  Irvine,  had  brought  her  back 
with  him.  arriving  the  day  after  the  lad  had  started 
on  his  hunt.  Besides,  the  mother  continued,  the  girl 
was  anxious  to  take  a  place  in  the  interior  of  the 
Commonwealth ;  she  wished  to  go,  when  her  term  ex- 
pired, to  the  home  of  a  sister,  somewhere  in  the 
neighborhood  of  the  new  town  of  Pittsburg. 

But  before  more  was  said,  the  kitchen  door  opened 
and  the  young  girl  entered,  accompanied  by  an  older 
Palatine  woman  named  Anna,  an  expired  redemption- 
er  who  continued  to  remain  with  the  Irvine  family. 
They  took  their  places  by  the  spinning  wheel  and 
loom,  and  were  soon  busily  employed.  The  conver- 
sation lulled  after  their  entrance,  and  the  young  man 
passed  the  evening  gazing  into  the  fire  and  casting 
furtive  glances  at  the  fair  young  girl  toiling  at  the 
wheels.  In  the  course  of  the  evening  Colonel  Irvine 
came  in;  he  had  been  absent  on  a  political  mission 
down  to  the  ''Forks.''  where  Huntington  Creek  and 
Fishing  Creek  come  together,  and  flow  towards  the 
river  as  one. 

The  veteran  of  the  Indian  and  Revolutionary  wars 
was  pleased  to  see  his  son  back  again,  welcoming  him 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  275 


\varmly,  though  he  was  at  most  an  undemonstrative 
nature.  Soon  after  his  arrival  the  clock  in  the  far 
corner  of  the  big  room  struck  ten  .  It  was  the  signal 
for  the  party  to  disperse.  Young  Irvine  watched  the 
tall,  lovely  girl  as  she  disappeared  into  the  gloom  of 
the  servants'  quarters,  where  she  roomed  with  the  old 
standby,  Anna.  No  one  knew  her  last  name. 

"The  young  girl  seems  like  an  apt  worker,"  said 
the  Colonel,  as  he  started  up  stairs. 

"Yes,"  said  his  wife,  "she  seems  quiet  and  of  a  bet- 
ter class  than  most  of  her  kind  I  have  seen." 

"What  is  her  name?"  said  the  young  man  impul- 
sively, forgetting  for  an  instant  his  studied  purpose 
tr  disguise  his  interest. 

"Mary  Casselman,"  said  the  Colonel.  "At  least 
that's  the  name  she  gives.  She  says  that  she  was 
taken  to  Ireland  as  an  infant  during  the  great  famine 
in  the  Rhine  country,  and  then  was  forced  to  leave  the 
Green  Isle  for  the  same  reason." 

Young  Irvine  said  no  more,  but  hurried  to  his  room 
before  making  any  more  injudicious  remarks.  All 
that  night  he  lay  awake,  his  heart  and  brain  throb- 
bing with  new  emotion,  love,  which  had  suddenly 
formed  itself  from  the  tempest  of  disjointed  and 
fiery  sensations  that  had  been  possessing  his  young 
self  these  several  years.  His  anguish  cut  him  like 
:\  knife;  he  could  not  remain  in  bed.  Getting  up  and 
dressing  he  sat  in  a  window  seat  looking  out  into 
the  frosty  night,  composing  some  crude  verses  about 
her,  until  daylight. 


276  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


When  he  came  down  stars  he  saw  his  Mary  putting 
wood  on  the  fire  preparatory  to  resuming  work  on 
the  loom.  He  wished  her  "good  morning"  and  in- 
quired if  she  generally  came  down  stairs  so  early. 
She  looked  away  when  she  answered,  coloring  as  she 
did  so,  saying1  that  she  had  not  slept  well,  that  she 
had  gotten  up  so  as  to  let  old  Anna  have  a  nap  be- 
fore arising.  The  boy  and  girl  had  a  pleasant  talk 
until  the  old  German  woman  came  in,  when  Mary 
withdrew  to  the  kitchen  to  assist,  her  in  preparing 
breakfast. 

The  young  man  walked  out  to  the  barn  in  the 
foggy,  damp  morning  air,  where  he  remained  until 
the  big  bronze  bell  on  the  pole  by  the  kitchen  door 
was  rung,  announcing  that  breakfast  was  ready.  In 
the  barn  among  his  favorite  horses  and  dogs  he  re- 
solved to  leave  his  attachment  for  the  beautiful  Re- 
demptioner  as  it  had  begun,  subterranean.  He  loved 
her,  else  what  was  the  volcanic  emotion  that  had 
broken  his  rest,  yet  he  was  too  young  to  think  of 
marriage — what  would  he  do  with  a  wife,  besides, 
the  girl  was  several  years  older  than  he.  No  one 
knew  who  she  was.  He,  of  proud  name  and  lineage, 
could  not  wed  a  servant  under  any  conditions.  But 
he  loved  her  and  always  would  like  to  have  her 
rear  him.  Generations  of  robust  blood  had  given 
him  a  strength  of  character  which,  added  to  the  self 
reliance  developed  on  the  frontier,  made  him  adamant 
to  possible  errors  of  conduct. 

During  the  six  months  that  the  beautiful  and  ador- 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  277 

rible  Mary  Casselman  remained  at  "Patterson's 
Grove,"  the  mansion  was  named  for  his  mother's 
family,  never  by  word  or  sign  did  young  Irvine  dis- 
close the  fact  of  this  great  attachment  to  his  parents. 
And  never  did  he  let  slip  a  hint  of  it  to  the  girl. 
Whenever  he  could  he  would  sit  with  her  and  old 
Anna  in  the  kitchen,  discussing  the  war,  which  had 
just  come  to  a  close,  the  chase  and  the  minor  events 
of  the  day,  but  he  was  always  dignified,  always  re- 
served, though  underneath  burning  up  with  love.  On 
a  few  occasions  when,  work  done,  Mary  would  go 
for  a  stroll,  he  joined  her  for  a  short  distance,  but 
the  conversation  was  always  formal.  He  was  never 
able  to  forget  the  time  on  Christmas  Eve  when  she 
stood  on  chair  placing  sprigs  of  coral-colored  winter 
berries  ( Ilc.v  rcrticillata )  about  the  frames  of  his 
ancestors'  portraits  in  the  great  hall.  Old  Anna 
stood  below  her  with  her  hand  on  the  back  of  her  skirts 
lest  she  lose  her  balance,  uniniten-tionally  revealing  the 
pretty  lines  of  her  form.  He  should  have  stepped 
forward  to  help  arrange  the  berries  but  was  losL  in 
loving  contemplation. 

ft  was  late  in  September  when  the  girl  arrived;  it 
was  about  the  middle  of  March  when  her  terms  of 
service  expired,  and  she  came  to  the  young  man's 
mother  to  discuss  her  forthcoming  departure.  It  is 
certain  that  the  good  lady  was  satisfied  with  the  girl's 
work  and  demeanor,  but  something,  perhaps  a  moth- 
er's intuition,  caused  her,  when  the  girl  asked  if  her 
services  were  required  longer,  to  say,  that  the  period 


278  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

having  ended,  she  could  go.  It  was  too  early  in  the 
season  to  attempt  the  long  journey  across  the  moun- 
tains to  Fort  Pitt ;  there  was  no  place  to  go  but  to 
the  home  of  a  friend  in  the  neighborhood  of  Derrs- 
town,  also  a  former  Redemptioner,  who  had  recently 
married  a  wealthy  inn-keeper.  She  would  help 
with  the  work  there  until  warm  weather  set  in,  then 
make  her  way  as  best  she  could  to  the  West.  The 
day  of  her  departure  was  memorable.  Old  Anna 
borrowed  the  family  horse  and  riding  astride  like  a 
man,  she  looked  like  one  with  her  short  hair,  with 
the  fair  Mary  perched  on  behind,  holding  on  with 
her  slender  smooth  arms  around  her  burly  waist, 
started  across  the  Huntington  Mountains,  by  way 
of  Jonestown  Gap,  to  the  river  where  a  raft  or  flat- 
boat  would  convey  her  to  Fort  Augusta.  She  was 
to  be  met  at  the  fort  by  her  friend  from  Derrstown. 

Young  Irvine,  maintained  his  composure  admirably, 
?i  least  outwardly,  but  he  longed  to  be  going  with 
the  lovely  girl  to  a  happier  life  beyond  the  mountains. 
That  night  he  sat  up  writing  an  account  of  his  ro- 
mance in  an  ancient  leather-bound  account  book,  and 
transcribing  the  many  sheets  of  verses  that  he  had 
composed  about  her;  if  he  could  tell  it  to  no  one 
he  would  pour  out  his  heart  on  vellum. 

When  old  Anna  returned  the  next  evening,  he  sat 
with  her  until  midnight  by  the  kitchen  fire,  listening 
to  her  extoll  the  charms  of  the  departed  girl,  while 
ttars  ran  down  her  coarse,  masculine  face.  They 
bad  been  so  cozy  together  as  room-mates,  she  said, 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  279 


just  like  husband  and  wife,  and  would  miss  her  so 
much.  Now  that  she  was  gone,  Irvine  realized  the 
enormity  of  his  loss.  It  was  terrible  to  suppress  an 
emotion  that  was  greater  than  existence,  just  to 
live  up  to  an  honored  name,  a  phrase  unrecorded  in 
the  dictionary  of  passion.  Outwardly  he  was  calm, 
r.nd  with  his  parents  cheerful,  but  inwardly  he 
grieved  and  groaned  with  a  fast  sinking  spirit.  But 
he  bore  up.  just  as  many,  many  people  bear  this  and 
far  worse  trials,  feeling  that  it  was  all  for  the  best, 
i'lid  that  he  would  be  rewarded  for  his  abnegation 
some  day.  During  the  month  of  August  a  letter 
arrived,  penned  with  great  precision  and  care,  it  was 
c.ddressed  to  his  mother,  from  Mary  Casselman. 

ISriefly  she  said  that  she  was  ready  to  start  for  her 
sister's  home  near  Pittsburg.  but  as  she  had  enjoyed 
her  stay  at  "Patterson's  drove"  so  much  it  was  like 
''home,"  she  wanted  to  know  if  her  services  could 
be  again  utilized,  she  would  work  for  her  clothes  and 
do  anything,  if  only  she  could  come  back.  The  moth- 
er showed  it  to  her  son,  who  longed  to  say,  "let  her 
return,"  but  he  held  his  tongue,  while  his  heart  beat 
fast  as  she  deliberated,  finally  deciding  to  write  that 
there  was  no  place  open  for  her. 

"\Ye  have  enough  in  the  household,  five  Indians, 
old  Anna  and  seven  of  ourselves;  there  would  not  be 
enough  to  do  to  keep  her  busy.'' 

This  final  decision  was  heartbreaking  to  the  youth. 
Then  and  there  he  resolved  to  visit  his  love  before 
she  started  on  the  long  journey  to  the  country  be- 


280  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


yonci  the  Alleghenies.  But  before  he  could  think  out 
?.  plan  to  absent  himself  for  so  long  a  time,  old  Anna 
received  a  letter  from  the  girl,  inviting  her  to  come 
to  Derrstown  on  a  visit,  which  she  accepted  by 
promptly  starting  away  on  foot  to  the  river.  The 
young  man  was  forced  to  postpone  his  trip  until  the 
v/oman's  return,  as  otherwise  she  might  report  to 
his  parents  of  his  whereabouts.  Weeks  passed,  then 
came  a  letter  written  by  a  professional  scrivener  and 
signed  by  Anna's  mark.  In  a  word  it  said  that  she 
\\as  not  coming  back,  yet  no  reasons  were  given. 
Young  Irvine  gave  up  all  idea  of  a  trip,  and  forced 
himself  back  into  the  old  routine  of  life. 

Months  and  years  slipped  by.  He  went  to  school 
in  Philadelphia  and  to  college  in  New  Jersey.  He 
saw  many  charming  women,  but  his  heart  maintained 
one  image,  that  of  Mary  Casselman,  the  Redemp- 
tioner.  He  hoped  that  each  year  would  make  the 
presence  less,  but  it  only  grew  stronger  with  increas- 
ing maturity.  Finally  after  graduation  from  college, 
on  his  way  back  to  his  parental  home,  he  decided  to 
ride  to  Derrstown  and  find  out  where  Mary  was,  to 
?ee  her  again,  if  nothing  more.  It  was  easy  to  locate 
Aaron  Shreckengast's  big  stone  tavern  on  the  Pike 
near  the  present  village  of  Lochiel.  To  his  surprise, 
a<  he  rode  up  he  saw  old  Anna  in  the  yard  ;  would 
the  next  step  reveal  Mary  herself? 

"Where  is  Mary?"  he  asked,  breathlessly,  even 
omitting  greetings,  before  he  even  dismounted  from 
his  noise. 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  281 

Tears  came  to  the  aged  woman's  eyes.  "She's 
not  here,  Master  Patterson,  she  was  a  darling,"  she 
faltered  .  "She  started  the  Christmas  after  I  came 
here  for  Pittsburg;  she  went  with  a  big  emigrant 
train,  but  we  have  never  heard  from  her  since.  I 
always  hoped  it,  now  I  am  sure  that  you  loved  her, 
and  would  come  for  her  when  you  were  of  age,  but 
I  am  afraid  that  it  is  too  late."  Then  the  old  woman 
wept  as  if  her  heart  would  break. 

XYhile  they  were  talking  Shreckengast's  wife, 
Mary's  old  friend,  came  out  of  the  front  door.  She 
v  as  quite  pretty,  very  dark  and  slight,  with  very 
large  round  black  eyes.  Evidently  she  had  heard 
the  conversation,  for  she  said :  "\Ye  have  written 
many  letters,  and  sent  many  inquiries,  but  all  is  a 
blank.  Mary  vanished  from  us  with  that  trip  West." 

Shreckengast  himself,  a  man  much  older  than  his 
\vinsome  wife,  joined  in  the  talk,  reiterating  what  had 
been  said  concerning  the  girl's  disappearance.  They 
asked  the  young  man  to  stay  for  supper  and  spend 
the  night,  which  he  did.  All  the  while  he  was  there 
he  eneadoved  to  mid  a  clue  to  his  beloved's  where- 
abouts. Yet  he  was  happier  than  in  years  that  night 
to  sleep  under  the  roof  that  had  sheltered  his  darling. 
And  old  Anna,  to  pay  a  delicate  compliment,  put  him 
in  the  room  which  Mary  had  occupied. 

His  time  was  limited.  After  making  many  futile 
inquiries  in  Derrstown,  even  interrogating  the  young- 
er Lewis  Derr  himself,  he  rode  away  sadly  to  the 
seclusion  of  Patterson's  Grove.  More  months  and 


282  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

years  slipped  by  again.  Patterson  Irvine  was  a  man 
of  consequence  in  the  community,  his  name  bid  fair 
to  become  of  state-wide  importance.  He  could  win 
success  in  any  field,  but  what  did  it  mean  when  he 
suffered  so  acutely  from  a  heart's  emptiness.  He 
could  not  love,  yet  he  must  live  on,  singularly  alone 
and  inwardly  sad.  He  could  not  care  for  any  other 
woman ;  with  every  woman  he  met  soon  came  quick 
satiety  and  the  ever-burning  presence  of  Mary  Cas- 
selman.  Yet  from  a  spoiled  son  of  weathy  parents, 
his  character  had  broadened  and  humanized ;  he  had 
been  born  anew  by  this  doleful  romance. 

Ten  years  after  his  visit  to  Derrstown  he  resolved 
to  visit  Pittsburg  and  find  the  girl  if  she  lived,  and 
marry  her.  He  could  stand  the  torture  no  longer ; 
there  was  no  compromise.  He  had  written  to  Shreck- 
engast's  young  wife  several  times  in  the  interval, 
but  there  was  always  the  same  response,  "no  news." 
He  would  marry  his  Alary  and  bring  her  to  a  new 
stone  house  which  he  had  lately  constructed  on  the 
edge  of  a  rolling  meadow,  overlooking  the  winding, 
shaded  banks  of  Kitchen  Creek.  He  would  confess 
all  to  his  parents,  they  would  love  his  bride  and  ad- 
mire his  steadfastness,  when  they  knew  all.  But 
he  would  say  nothing  until  he  returned  with  her,  lest 
he  not  find  her.  His  heart  sank  when  he  thought  of 
such  a  horror,  but  it  was  possible !  She  might  be 
married  to  someone  else,  possibly  a  Dutch  clod  like 
Shreckengast. 

His    parents    were    old    and    growing    feeble,    their 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  283 


daughters  had  married  and  lived  in  distant  parts  of 
the  State ;  it  might  be  that  the  homecoming  of  the 
sweet  and  loving-  Mary  would  prove  a  blessing  in 
disguise.  The  young  man  knew  an  officer,  Major 
McKnight,  high  in  the  military  administration  of  the 
Pittsburg  district,  who  ought  to  locate  the  girl's 
whereabouts ;  it  should  not  be  a  difficult  task  in  that 
thinly  settled  region  .  He  started  away  one  bright 
morning  in  September — the  fifteenth  anniversary  of 
his  first  glimpse  of  Mary,  sewing  in  the  hall.  He 
was  well  mounted  on  a  big  bay  horse  and  accom- 
panied by  one  of  his  faithful  Indian  servants.  He 
left  word  that  a  light  should  be  kept  burning  every 
night  in  the  living  room,  which  faced  down  the  Valley. 
They  reached  Derrstown  the  first  night,  remaining 
at  the  Shreckengast  home.  There  he  learned  of  old 
Anna's  death  ;  she  had  passed  away  hoping  that  the 
"young  lord."  as  she  called  him,  and  Mary  could  meet 
and  be  happy.  With  Mary's  friend,  who  suspected 
the  true  state  of  affairs,  he  sat  by  the  fire  until  past 
midnight,  discussing  her  disappearance  and  the 
chances  of  finding  her  again.  He  learned  some  inter- 
esting things  which  made  his  heart  beat  faster.  It 
appeared  that  even  after  receiving  the  letter  from 
his  mother,  rejecting  her  offer  of  service,  which  de- 
pressed her  greatly,  she  could  not  bring  herself  to 
depart  for  the  West.  Yet  despiite  his  closest  question- 
ing he  could  not  learn  if  old  Anna  had  ever  said  that 
Mary  loved  him.  One  morning  she  had  ridden  to 
Derrstown  to  mail  some  letters,  and  when  she  re- 


284  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

turned  informed  them  that  she  had  met  a  party 
of  released  Redemptioners  bound  for  the  West;  she 
had  crossed  the  ocean  with  one  of  them  the  year  pre- 
ciously, it  would  be  a  splendid  opportunity  to  make  her 
journey  to  Pittsburg  in  good,  safe  company.  She  gath- 
ered together -her  scanty  belongings  and,  accompanied 
by  old  Anna,  rode  back  to  town,  where  she  bid  the 
aged  woman  farewell  at  the  "Harp  and  Crown"  inn 
where  the  fleet  of  Conestoga  wagons  were  parked. 
She  promised  to  write  as  soon  as  she  reached  her 
destination,  but  not  a  word  was  ever  heard  from 
her.  Perhaps  the  caravan  had  been  ambushed  by 
Indians  and  winsome  Mary  carried  off,  but  such 
occurrences  were  rare  nowadays ;  it  would  surely  be 
icported. 

From  Derrstown  Irvine  rode  to  the  Big  Spring, 
now  Hellefonte,  thence  to  Tyrone,  and  across  the 
mountains  to  Fort  Bedford,  to  the  pike,  now  the  Lin- 
coln Highway,  which  he  followed  to  Pittsburg.  He 
stopped  at  the  pioneer  church  near  Schellsburg, 
on  the  pike,  the  door  of  which  is  always  open 
to  travelers,  and  prayed  for  the  success  of  his 
quest.  He  called  at  the  home  of  Major  McKnight, 
who  received  him  cordially,  and  invited  him  to  remain 
at  his  home.  In  the  library  that  night  he  explained 
hts  mission.  The  officer  was  interested  and  very  sym- 
pathetic, mentioning  the  well-known  marriage  of  the 
famous  lawyer,  Hugh  H.  Brackenridge,  to  the  Ger- 
man girl,  Sabina  \Yolfe.  There  were  two  or  three 
Casselman  families  in  that  region,  he  said,  some  of 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  285 

whom  had  won  renown  as  Indian  fighters ;  they  were 
IT  en  of  property  and  generally  respected ;  they  might 
lie  of  kin  to  the  missing  girl.  A  close  friend  of  one 
of  them  lived  at  the  next  house  to  where  the  officer 
resided ;  he  would  be  able  to  clear  up  everything.  It 
was  not  late  so  they  took  their  hats  and  gloves  and 
hurried  up  the  shady  walk  to  the  home  of  the  neigh- 
bor in  question.  Captain  Adam  Showalter.  They 
were,  of  course,  pleasantly  received  by  him,  especially 
a.'-  he  proved  to  be  like  Irvine's  father,  a  veteran  of 
the  Indian  wars.  He  knew  all  the  members  of  the 
various  Casselman  families.  Mary  Casselman  had 
arrived  with  a  caravan  from  the  East  about  fifteen 
'years  before,  to  live  with  her  sister,  Mrs.  Jacob 
\Yingard.  of  Beck's  Run.  She  had  not  remained  long, 
rot  a  week,  until  she  became  engaged  to  one  of  the 
party  who  had  come  with  her,  a  young  Irishman 
named  Joe  Ouinn.  She  had  met  him  the  year  be- 
fore, having  crossed  the  ocean  in  a  party  of  Re- 
demptioners,  of  which  he  had  been  a  member. 

William  Irvine  looked  into  the  fire.  Even  the  soft 
glow  of  the  blazing  beechvvood  could  not  disguise  his 
sudden  pallor.  Showalter  said  that  Joe  Ouinn  was 
a  pretty  good  sort  of  fellow,  a  big,  rough,  hard  work- 
er with  a  heart  of  gold ;  he  had  cleared  up  a  nice  farm 
on  a  branch  of  Grave  Creek  and  had  started  ito  build 
a  home.  Mary  was  very  pretty  to  look  at,  could  read 
and  write,  a  very  rare  thing  for  a  Redemptioner.  Her 
manners  were  refined,  the  best  class  of  people  liked 
her.  but  her  health  was  always  poor,  she  had  been 


286  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


treated  by  doctors  in  Pittsburg  and  Indians,  but  she 
never  grew  any  better.  At  last,  after  a  year,  despair- 
ing as  to  her  health,  relatives  and  friends  decided 
to  take  her  to  the  highlands  of  Eastern  Kentucky, 
which  was  said  to  be  a  very  salubrious  climate.  The 
farm  had  been  sold  and,  packing  their  goods  with  them, 
they  I'.'id  departed  for  the  \ve-t  conr  <~\.  That  was 
the  last  that  had  been  heard  of  any  of  them.  It  was 
not  unusual,  as  the  west  was  a  big  place,  communica- 
tion was  slow. 

Every  word  from  the  well-informed  Captain 
Showalter  was  a  body-blow  to  the  lover  and  his  hopes. 
But  he  pulled  himself  together,  saying  in  as  nonchal- 
ant manner  as  he  could  assume,  that  he  was  a  little 
interested  in  the  young  woman  for  his  mother's  sake, 
as  she  had  served  in  their  household  and  very  faith- 
fully, some  years  previously. 

Stung  with  sorrow  and  secret  mortification,  he 
walked  back  in  silence  with  the  Major  tc  that  gentle- 
man's residence.  ITis  sorrow  was  deep,  for  he  had 
loved  and  lost,  but  he  had  doubly  lost  because  there 
had  also  perished  his  sense  of  secret  gratification,  the 
long  cherished  belief  that  Alary  had  cared  for  him, 
that  owing  to  his  superior  birth,  he  had  let  her  go  out 
of  his  life  to  wander  about  the  world  in  an  unsatisfied 
loneliness.  He  spent  a  restless  night,  pursued  by  ugly 
dreams  and  uglier  waking  fancies.  Sometimes  he 
vowed  that  in  the  morning  he  would  ride  over  to 
lieck's  Run  for  just  one  look  at  the  house  where  she 
had  lived,  to  look  at  the  scenes  familiar  to  her  eyes. 


1 — • • * 

i 

{    Schellsburg  Church,   Built    1 
1806 — Chestnut  Ridge, 
from   Lincoln    Highway       [ 


•* 


MOU NTAIN  SKETCHES 

•ii   I1;  :i  :i>iirq  am!   Indians  br.t   S!K- 

lt<-;      At  last   after  a  year,  de-pair- 

1  h,    ivla'UT.--    ;i:ul    friends    decided 

highland-    of    F.a-tt.-rn    Keiuiucky. 

l.v  a  ver1--  .^ahiiorious  cliniaK;.     ''Pic 

and.  'Backing  ti'ieir  '^of.><'--  \viih  tbci", 

t';i  TIU  '\.T--t  -Tint  .'v  Thai  'A  as 
'«'t:M  lican'  of  an\  of  :.]K-MI.  It  \va> 


!  jiioa 

1    -     i'V 


iH  iuniwHD — B08I 

Id  an 


nlooni J 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  287 

to  walk  on  ground  her  feet  ha'd  trod.  When  he  got 
up  his  determination  was  firm  to  add  no  further 
chapters  to  his  ''sentimental  journey."  She  must  have 
loved  Quinn,  he  reasoned  all  along;  he  had  meant 
nothing  'to  her,  else  she  would  have  ait  least  tried  to 
keep  alive  her  unfulfilled  hopes  by  writing  to  him. 

But  all  speculation  was  useless.  Mary  was  dead  or 
married,  gone;  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  return 
home.  In  the  foggy,  damp  half-light  the  horses  were 
brought  ito  the  door  and  the  thoroughly  disheartened 
young  man,  accompanied  by  his  Indian  retainer,  start- 
ed for  the  distant  North  Mountain  country.  It  was  a 
sad  and  tedious  journey,  and  he  pondered  for  several 
hours  at  Point  Lookout,  gazing  towards  the  west,  the 
last  home  of  his  beloved  When  he  reached  "Patter- 
son's Grove''  he  braced  himself  so  that  his  parents 
never  suspected  the  soul-shock  that  he  had  exper- 
ienced. But  spiritually  he  was  again  a  changed  man, 
•though  it  never  affected  his  wordly  career.  He  be- 
came still  better  known  as  a  large  land  owner,  lum- 
ber operator  and  in  politics.  Some  wondered  why  one 
with  such  good  health  and  good  nature  and  such  a 
winning  presence  elected  to  live  alone,  that  was  all. 

Every  night  the  light  burned  in  his  window  in  the 
old  Manor  House,  which  looked  down  the  creek,  and 
it  was  extinguished  on  the  evening  of  his  death  be- 
cause he  was  too  feeble  to  get  up  and  shut  out  the  gale 
which  threatened  it. 

But  the  same  gale  which  extinguished  the  lamp  car- 
ried his  released  spirit  to  a  land  where  lights  and 
beacons  are  not  needed  to  reveal  die  power  of  love. 


XXI.    The  North  Bastion 

OF  the  exact  date  of  the  construction  of  Forbes'51 
Fort,  east  of  Stoyestown,  little  is  known.  It 
is  generally  supposed  that  it  was  put  up  some 
time  during  1757,  as  it  has  been  described  by  military 
observers  arid  chroniclers  under  date  of  the  year  fol- 
lowing, the  immortal  year  of  the  fall  of  Fort  Duquesne. 
It  was  considered  to  be  in  an  admirable  strategic  posi- 
tion on  Breastwork  Run,  which  the  venerable  his- 
torian, George  W.  Grove,  tells  us  is  one  of  die  sources 
of  the  Juniata  River  and  in  close  proximity  to  two  In- 
dian trails. 

As  an  engineering  feat  Forbes's  Fort  was  considered 
admirable  for  its  day  and  generation.  The  eminent 
German  engineer,  Jacob  Rutzer,  who  designed  Fort 
Pitt,  had  learned  the  science  of  fortification  under 
Frederick  the  Great  before  entering  the  British  service, 
and  he  was  said  to  have  drawn  the  original  plans  of 
this  fort.  Among  those  in  charge  of  the  con- 
struction on  the  ground  was  Gottfried  Griesen- 
kampf,  a  man  of  considerable  education  and  en- 
gineering ability.  lie  was  known  a?  "Captain" 
Griesenkampf ,  but  his  military  title  was  purely  one 
of  courtesy  order,  as  he  was  in  reality  but  foreman 
of  the  works.  He  was  a  hard  taskmaster,  yet  had  the 
knack  of  finding  a  force  of  men  to  do  the  work  with- 
out detaining  any  of  the  military  who  were  much 
needed  elsewhere.  Ho  got  togther  a  number  of  In- 
dians of  various  kinds,  Catawabas,  Cherokees, 

288 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  289 


Shawnees,  Tuscaroras,  Lenni  Lannpes  and  Senecas, 
also  Germans,  Irishmen,  Frenchmen  two  Spaniards 
from  the  Minisink.  and  some  of  the  first  gypsies  to 
penetrate  into  the  interior  were  also  pressed  into 
service. 

When  Colonel  the  Honorable  Archie  Montgomery,  of 
the  Seaforth  Highlanders,  and  Inspector  of  General 
Forbes"  expeditionary  forces,  first  visited  the  structure 
it  was  not  completed,  but  the  medley  of  workers  made 
him  remark  to  his  Aide,  Captain  .Sir  Allen  M'a'cLean, 
that  instead  of  a  fort  he  believed  that  a  modern  replica 
of  the  Tower  of  Babel  was  being  erected.  Colonel  the 
Honorable  Montgomery  was  a  superb  looking  young 
Scotchman,  who  keenly  enjoyed  his  experiences  on 
the  frontier,  and  was  of  inestimable  value  in  keeping 
up  die  general  morale  of  the  forces  through  the  means 
of  the  externals.  He  was  a  stickler  for  good  ord- 
nance, for  a  uniform  appearance  of  the  men,  decent 
surroundings,  good  food  and  all  that  went  to  hold 
up  the  esprit  de  corps.  History  tells  little  of  hi* 
services,  btiit  they  were  many  for  the  cause  he  rep- 
resented. 

At  the  time  of  his  first  visit  "Captain"  Griesenkampf 
was  in  charge  of  the  workers,  and  was  living  in  the 
North  Bastion,  which  was  entirely  completed.  He 
asked  the  young  Highland  officer  to  occupy  this  apart- 
ment during  his  sojourn,  but  he  declined  as  Jack  Mil- 
ler, a  pioneer  who  lived  nearby,  had  told  him  that 
Griesenkampf 's  wife  had  recently  arrived,  and  he 
would  not  deprive  a  lady  of  comforts.  Besides  Mil- 


290  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


ler's  home  suited  better,  being  conveniently  situated 
on  the  river  bank,  with  large  connecting  rooms,  each 
with  a  fireplace,  in  which  the  Honorable  Colonel  and 
his  Aide  could  live  with  all  the  comforts  of  bachelor 
quarters  in  London.  It  was  not  until  his  last  day  at  the 
fort  that  the  Colonel  caught  a  glimpse  of  Mrs.  Captain 
Griesenkampf,  as  she  was  called.  Miller  had  said 
diat  she  was  an  uncommonly  pretty  young  woman, 
and  could  not  understand  why  she  had  married  a 
man  of  forty-five  like  the  Captain,  a  fellow  of 
Prussian  brusqueness  and  lack  of  human  sympathy. 
Miller,  who  was  born  in  Holland,  and  had  roamed  all 
over  the  world  before  coming  to  America;,  was  a  very 
shrewd  judge  of  character  and  despised  Griesenkampf 
as  a  man.  while  admiring  his  capabilities  as  an  engi- 
neer. "As  a  man  he  is  one  of  the  rottenest  creatures  T 
ever  came  across,"  he  said  to  the  Colonel,  ''but  he  does 
his  work  well,  so  as  a  machine  I  will  say  he  is  all  that 
can  1)e  expected  of  him." 

As  to  his  wife's  nationality,  he  was  uncertain,  but 
one  of  the  Gypsies  working  on  the  fort  declared  that 
she  was  a  Romany  Princess,  that  he  had  known  her 
in  Germany,  and  had  carried  on  a  conversation  with 
her  in  the  Gypsy  tongue  while  plastering  her  new 
apartment  in  the  Pepper  Box  Tower  of  the  Bastion. 
She  was  said  to  be  an  excellent  linguist,  and  could  play 
the  violin  very  well,  as  well  as  paint  pictures,  all  of 
which  accomplishments  made  the  Colonel  and  his  Aide 
very  anxious  to  meet  her.  Miller  said  that  the  Captain 
was  evidently  mistrustful  of  her,  as  he  always  kqot  her 


Interior  of  Ancient 

j 

Schellsburg  I 

1 

Church  | 


290 


*OUTH   MOUNTAIN   SKETCHES 


!ei  s  'in  ;)!<;:  --Liked  hc-.er.  being  conveniently  situated 
on  t'~v  nviT  bank,  with  large  connecting  rooms,  each 
v.-ith  .1  h. --.-'place,  in  which  the  Honorable  Colonel  and 
h..'-  tr' could  iJv-r  with  all  the  comfort,-*  of  bachelor 

.r  icrs  ui  Lo-idon.  i.t  was  not  until  his  la.-t  day  at  the 
r.-:.  d,  .{  the  C»l'~ne!  caught  a  glimpse  of  Airs.  Captain 
1  '.•  :csenkanipf ,  ,:>  -die  >vas  called.  Miller  had  said 

,t    -:he    \:.        ;m    uncommonly    prertv    yon.ng    uroman, 

.,i).!    CLi-I-i    M..     mi-lersiru:  1    \vhv    slu-    had    married    a 

j  ;ars    os'     ;•  MX-  i\'0     like    the    Cnpta-.n.    :-.     fellow    of 

i.  r    'y  '»"  i."  ii'"-.  "Mi"?'   t',.  I1,    i'."-  "ld"'l:  't   sympathy. 


\v;--  :ior-i  in  Mollanc!,  and  ha>i 
JnaionA  lo  •johsinl , 

:  or  .  iiavacter  and  despised  (.\\ 


. 
.  so  a  -  a  ria« 


he  rotten-;s 


roamed  all 

was  a  \  ci  y 
iesenkatirpf 
as  an  en.id- 
creatures  ! 
nit  h-.'  does 
^1    :-  all  that 


fe'-   nationalit),  he   \va-  inicen:a:n.   hut 

>ies  \\-orkini;  on  the   i«?":  dec!a.;'C.'i  that 

ir»,iv    j'rimv .-:••.  thar  Vie  ha-:  kno\vn  he;' 

!   iia  i  c  \rrif-d  on   a  conversation  with 

•-v    tono'iie,    \vlvth.1    ;i!a-*eri:!i;    her    new 

•;e    !  fp;ier   i.'-jx  To.ver  rif  vlie   l>astion. 

!»</  an  ';  \(.clleii'!  l"i]^i!'s'    ,t.ini  could  j'Viy 

•.'.e!i    -.r-    ived  a-,  parn   p:cturi:;. ,  ail  nf 

-i  r.Ttits  n.:--,de  -1  r  Colorel  and  ;ii^  Aide 

rice;  iicr      "i;i!l<;"  -.aid  thai  ih^  C'aptain 

"ii;-1.1"   !  ')'  her.  a-    :e  alwav,  kei't  her 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  291 


within  the  siockade ;  she  had  seen  nothing  of  the  coun- 
try and  had  met  no  one  since  her  arrival  from  Carlisle. 
The  thought  of  a  woman  of  mystery,  held  in  the  fort, 
perhaps  under  duress,  further  interested  the  officers, 
and  the\'  wondered  why  they  had  never  met  lier,  or 
heard  the  Captain  mention  her  existence. 

That  afternoon,  after  dinner,  as  they  were  strolling 
from  Miller's  house  towards  the  fort  they  met 
the  Captain,  superintending  the  completion  of  the 
moat.  lie  left  the  band  of  grimy  workers  and  ap- 
proached the  officers  very  deferentially.  "Gentlemen," 
he  said,  '']  understand  that  it  is  your  pleasure  to  leave 
here  tomorrow,  and  that  being  the  case  I  feel  that 
I  should  try  to  show  you  some  hospitality  beyond 
the  merely  military  courtesies.  My  quarters  are  tem- 
porary and  not  exactly  comfortable,  but  I  would  feel 
honored  if  you  would  both  have  supper  in  the  North 
Hastion  at  half  after  six,  and  meet  Madame  Griesen- 
kampf.''  The  officers  accepted  with  alacrity,  and  the 
engineer  beamed  all  over  at  the  compliment  bestowed 
on  him  Ruffian  that  he  was,  he  liked  to  be  known  as 
the  friend  of  high-ranking  officers,  and  Colonel  the 
Honorable  Archie  Montgomery  and  Captain  Sir  Allen 
MacLean  were  among  the  very  elite  of  the  splendid 
personnel  comprising  General  Forbes'  expedition. 

The  young  officers  continued  their  walk,  discussing 
the  adventure  that  awaited  them,  as  neither  of  them 
saw  beauty  in  Indian  girls,  and  had  not  looked  into 
wl.at  they  called  a  pretty  face  since  they  left  Carlisle. 
\Yould  the  Captain's  wife  prove  to  be  a  lady,  or  some 


292  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

wild  creature  he  had  picked  up  in  a  gutter;  was  she 
really  as  good  looking  as  Miller  described  her 
— all  these  topics  kept  up  their  interests  as  they  con- 
tinued their  walk  among  the  forests  which  overlooked 
the  blue  waters  of  the  Breastwork  Branch.  The  very 
thought  of  meeting  and  talking  to  a  white  woman 
stimulated  their  imaginations,  as  they  were  hungry 
for  feminine  society,  and  the  ignorance  and  shallow- 
ness  of  the  Indian  girls  made  them  look  on  such 
females  as  travesties  of  the  sex.  As  supper  time  ap- 
proached .they  shaved,  adjusted  their  uniforms,  com- 
mented on  one  another's  appearance,  and  sticks  in 
hand  strolled  in  dignified  manner  towards  the  bar- 
bacan  of  the  fort.  At  the  porta'l  Captain  Griesen- 
kampf's  German  servant  or  orderly  met  them  and 
escorted  them  to  the  newly  completed  North  Bastion. 
The  wily  engineer  had  surely  fixed  himself  up  nicelv 
At  a  knock  from  the  factotum  the  heavy  oaken  door 
was  opened  by  another  servant  within,  and  the  two 
young  officers  entered. 

A  fire  was  burning  in  a  well  built  stone  chimney, 
before  which  the  ponderous  German  was  standing, 
clad  in  a  military  coat  with  hands  folded  behind  his 
back  after  the  manner  of  Frederick  the  Great.  The 
wife  was  seated  on  a  chair  by  the  fire,  and  rose  to 
greet  the  guests.  She  was  much  prettier  and  more 
refined  looking  than  the  officers  were  prepared  for. 
In  her  rose  cglored  colonial  gown  her  youthful  form 
showed  oft  ito  advantage,  her  rather  narrow  face  was 
crowned  by  a  mass  of  crisp,  curly  da'rk  hair  and  had  a 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  293 

very  sorrowful  expression.  The  slight  duskiness  to 
her  complexion  alone  betokened  'any  possible  Gypsy 
origin.  She  was  a  charming  looking  woman,  but  older 
than  the  officers  had  expected,  being  at  least  thirty, 
they  thought,  but  diat  was  much  younger  than  her 
husband,  who  was  probably  forty-five  "if  he  was  a 
day."  After  a  few  minutes  conversation  the  servant 
announced  that  the  meal  was  in  readiness  and  every- 
thing progressed  very  pleasantly  until  the  German 
began  to  show  the  effects  of  too  much  rum.  He  now 
became  ugly  and  sarcastic,  and  began  accusing  his 
wife  of  lack  of  dignity  in  talking  on  a  sand  heap  for 
half  an  hour  with  a  Gypsy  navvy.  ''I  see  no  harm  in 
it."  protested  the  wife,  "to  >talk  to  a  fellow  who  said 
he  was  a  retainer  of  my  lamented  father  at  Lichteri- 
berg.  I  did  not  recall  him,  I  have  been  away  from 
home  so  long,  and  I  tried  to  make  out  that  he  did  not 
know  me.  until  he  said  'Tit  lial  rom  me  horn,  rakkcr 
aschat  sclwpciii!.''  (Thou  art  a1  Gypsy,  I  am  a  Gypsy, 
speak  the  truth.")  At  these  words  the  Captain  flew 
into  a  rage.  "That  fellow  insulted  you,  he  questioned 
your  veracity  ;  how  dare  you  take  such  impudence  un- 
challenged?" 

From  that  time  on  the  evening  went  from  bad  to 
worse,  until  the  Highlanders  forgot  about  being  in 
the  company  of  a  very  pretty  woman  and  were  glad 
do  get  away.  Before  they  left  the  Captain,  as  if  try- 
ing to  make  amends,  showed  them  the  construction 
of  the  bastion,  including  a  covered  passageway  of 
masonry  which  led  from  a  trap-door  to  the  edge  of 


294  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


the  Breastwork  Run  that  fed  die  moat  and  in  turn 
emptied  into  the  Juniata,  which  would  furnish  the  fort 
with  water  during  a  possible  siege.  But  the  officers 
were  not  interested  and  hurried  away.  The  German 
orderly  escorted  them  to  the  portal,  shutting  the  gate 
after  them ;  they  felt  free  at  last. 

As  ithey  almost  raced  down  the  hill  towards  their 
quarters  they  kept  swearing  under  their  breaths,  but 
did  not  explode  until  they  were  indoors  at 
Miller's.  Then  they  denounced  the  brutish  German 
to  themselves  and  to  their  host,  and  expressed  a  deep 
pity  for  such  a  gentlewoman  itied  to  such  an  unman- 
nerly tyrant.  Miller  said,  thac  his  heart  bled 
for  "Madame  Captain,"  but  what  could  he  do!  The 
next  day  they  departed  to  continue  their  inspection 
of  other  fortifications  and  garrisons,  eventually  re- 
turning to  Carlisle  to  report  to  General  Forbes. 

Over  a  year  had  passed  until  Colonel  the  Honor- 
able Archie  Momrogmery  again  approached  the  bar- 
bacan  of  Forbes's  Fort.  This  time  at  the  head  of  a 
detachment  of  Highlanders  he  was  to  inspect  the 
home  guard  prior  to  the  arrival  of  the  main  forces 
of  General  Forbes,  Colonel  Bouquet  and  Colonel 
Washington  en  route  to  Fort  Duquesne.  A  confer- 
ence was  to  be  held  there  between  the  above  named 
officers  and  Colonel  Armstrong  and  Colonel  Burd. 
and  the  final  plan  of  the  campaign  laid  out.  It  was 
in  the  chill  of  a  November  dusk,  it  might  have  been 
All  Soul's  night,  k  had  rained  and  sleeted,  and  the 
east  wind  had  been  cutting  like  a  knife  all  day  long. 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  295 


Colonel  Montgomery  sat  on  his  horse  chilled  stiff, 
and  so  overcome  with  fatigue  that  he  held  his  seat 
mechanically.  The  men  were  mired  and  footsore  and 
nervously  upset,  and  the  opening  of  t>he  big  log  gates, 
showing  camp-fires  within  the  stockade  cheered  their 
jaded  hearts  that  they  broke  out  with  a  shout  of  joy. 

Captain  Griesenkampf  had  finished  his  construction 
work  long  ago  and  returned  to  Philadelphia,  and  Cap- 
tain Mac  Lachlan.  the  Adjutant  of  the  fort  who  met 
the  Colonel  with  military  honors,  suggested  that  he 
occupy  for  the  night  -the  Pepper  Box  Tower  of  the 
Xorth  I.'.astion,  as  the  most  habitable  quarters  avail- 
able. "The  Dutchman,"  he  whispered,  "fixed  up  a  very 
nice  place  for  himself  and  lad}-  and  1  can  promise  you 
a  good  night's  rest  there.  1  am  reserving  the  lower 
apartment  for  General  Forbes  to  hold  his  officers 
meeting  in,  it  is  so  spacious."  The  Colonel  recollected 
that  apartment  well,  though  he  cherished  no  pleasant 
memories  of  the  uncivil  evening  he  had  spent  in  it. 

Everything  had  been  prepared  in  advance  for  his 
entertainment.  A  cheery  fire  was  blazing  on  the 
hearth,  a  good  supper  with  a  bottle  of  French  wine 
was  on  the  table,  a  large  bed  was  spread.  He  was 
waited  on  by  his  own  orderly  and  one  of  the  local 
soldiers,  and  after  the  meal  was  finished  he  asked 
to  be  left  alone,  that  he  felt  tired  after  the  long  ride 
from  Fon  Littleton.  He  blew  out  the  rushlight  on 
the  bedstead  and  undressed  by  the  ruddy  glow  from 
the  hearth,  which  threw  all  manner  of  fantastic 
shadows  on  the  plastered  walls.  He  got  into  bed,  but 


296  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


was  so  stiff  and  overly-tired  that  it  was  a  long  time 
before  he  fell  asleep. 

He  was  awakened  after  a  short  nap  about  midnight 
by  the  sound  of  footsteps  on  the  stone  floor  of  the 
apartment.  The  fire  was  still  going  and  the  room 
was  light.  Looking  out  from  the  mas?  of  feather 
quilts  he  saw  the  figure  of  Captain  Griesenkampf's 
wife,  attired  in  the  rose-colored  gown,  but  with  the 
pallor  of  a  dead  person  in  her  face.  On  her  throat 
w7ere  several  deep,  dark  marks,  as  if  made  by  pres- 
sure from  a  man's  fingers.  She  kept  looking  at  him, 
and  crossing  and  recrossing  the  room,  pointing 
at  the  doorway  which  led  down  to  the  moat.  He 
watched  her  intently  but  made  no  move  to  get  out  of 
bed.  Finally,  with  a  look  of  despair  the  apparition 
came  to  his  bedside  and  pointed  across  to  the  door- 
way in  the  floor,  then  walked  to  it,  still  pointing. 

Colonel  the  Honorable  Archie  Montgomery  had 
come  from  a  land  of  ghosts,  and  knew  how  to  treat 
them,  only  it  was  a  cold  night  and  he  did  not  relish 
getting  out  of  his  warm  bed,  even  to  please  a  pretty 
woman.  However,  rather  than  cause  her  anguish  he 
crawled  out,  and  in  his  stocking  feet  followed  her  to 
the  hattchway.  He  looked  at  it  steadily,  then  nodded 
his  head  to  her ;  he  knew  enough  not  to  speak,  as  he 
did  not  want  to  "lay"  her,  f.he  was  too  pretty  a  ghost 
to  annihilate.  Something  like  a  smile  overspread  the 
\van  features  of  the  apparition,  and  as  he  turned  to 
go  back  to  bed  she  disappeared  amid  the  lights  and 
shadows  thrown  out  from  the  dying  fire.  After 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  297 


that  the  Colonel  fell  asleep  again  and  woke  in  good 
time,  and  feeling  refreshed  as  well. 

Captain  MacLachlan  was  eariy  in  attendance. 
The  Colonel  asked  him  what  had  become  of  Griesen- 
kampf's  wife,  she  seemed  like  an  attractive  person. 
"Haven't  you  heard,"  said  the  Adjutant,  in  surprised 
tones.  "She  became  infatuated  with  a  Gypsy  man, 
whom  she  had  known  in  Germany,  and  ran  away 
with  him." 

"1  think  differently,"  replied  the  Colonel,  and  he 
told  his  brother  Highlander  the  sitory  of  the  visitation. 
"My  opinion  is,"  he  said,  "that  the  ugly  brute  during 
a  quarrel  strangled  her  and  threw  her  body  into  the 
moat  where  it  drifted  off  into  the  Junhta;  she  was 
no  woman  to  decamp  with  a  low  Gypsy." 

The  Adjutant  allowed  that  what  the  Colonel  stated 
was  doubtless  the  proper  explanation  of  the  affair, 
that  he  knew  the  Captain's  wife  to  be  a  woman  of  re- 
finement, and  was  for  dragging  the  moat. 

"It  will  do  no  good,"  re  plied  the  Colonel.  "I  will 
have  Griesenkampf  apprehended  and  forced  to  con- 
fess his  black  deed.  We  will  let  his  poor  wife's  body 
rest  where  it  is,  if  iit  should  by  any  chance  remain  in 
the  moat." 

A  few  weeks  later  General  Forbes,  with  Colonel 
Bouquet  and  Colonel  Washington,  and  an  army  of 
seven  thousand  men,  arrived  at  the  fort,  en  route  for 
the  \ves>:.  It  was  in  the  ground  floor  apartment  in  the 
North  Bastion  that  the  famous  conference  between 
the  General,  with  Bouquet  and  Washington,  and  Col- 


298  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


onels  Armsrong  and  Burd,  was  held,  Colonel  the  Hon- 
orable Montgomery  also  being  present.  It  was  at  this 
conference,  which  lasted  past  the  midnight  hour,  that 
Colonel  Washington  urged  that  they  should  profit  by 
General  Bra'ddock's  defeat  three  years  before  and 
adopt  the  Indian  method  of  warfare.  His  idea  was 
unanimously  approved,  with  the  result  that  alfter  sev- 
eral preliminary  skirmishes  the  French  and  Indians 
abandoned  Duquesne,  leaving  for  the  victors  as  one 
historian  has  'stated  "only  the  name  and  the  fort." 

While  the  impressive  conference  was  at  its  height 
Colonel  the  Honorable  Montgomery  noticed  the  rose- 
clad  figure  of  the  German  Captain's  wife  standing  in 
a  dark  corner  by  the  fireplace.  She  was  pointing  to- 
wards a  small  doorway  which  led  down  to  the  moat. 
Catching  her  eye  he  nodded  and  signaled  that  he  had 
not  forgotten  her  request,  and  she  with  a  smile  on 
her  face  faded  out  into  the  gloom.  None  of  the  other 
leaders  present  suspected  that  they  had  entertained  a 
shadowy  visitant,  though  ghosts  may  lurk  about  many 
of  our  councils,  though  we  do  not  see  them. 

This  time  Colonel  Montgomery  acted  promptly, 
sending  a  dispatch  rider  to  Philadelphia  to  have 
Griesenkampf  placed  under  arrest  pending  informa- 
tion he  would  forward.  The  only  report  that  he  was 
able  to  get  on  the  case  was  that  'the  fellow  had  in 
some  manner  been  released  from  his  semi-military 
•duties,  and  taken  ship  for  Europe.  Perhaps  the  un- 
quiet spirit  of  his  slain  wife  had  visited  him,  and 
lie  had  felt  that  die  only  course  of  safety  lay  in  flight. 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


299 


Some  of  the  older  residents  of  Somerset  County  tell 
of  the  finding  of  a  female  skeleton  when  leveling  part 
of  the  earthworks  and  moat  at  the  ruins  of  Forbes's 
Fort  and  how,  after  a  futile  effort  to  learn  the  identity, 
the  bones  were  given  decent  burial  in  the  Miller  ceme- 
tery, now  mostly  overgrown  with  trees. 

Whether  the  lovely  ghost  appeared  to  others,  tradi- 
tion does  not  record,  but  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  ven- 
geance followed  her  foul  spouse,  who  not  alone  mur- 
dered her,  but  sought  to  blacken  her  fair  name  as  well, 
and  left  her  body  to  moulder  in  the  slimy  waters  of 
•the  moat. 


XXII.    The  Hunter's  Moon 

THE  young  wife  of  Josephus  Van  Lierla  was  sit- 
ting in  her  kitchen  window  in  Path  Valley  watch- 
ing the  last  patches  of  rosy  light  disappear  behind 
the  rocky  and  pine-topped  summits  of  the  Tuscarora 
Mountains.  She  sat  there,  her  hand  resting  on  her  chin, 
and  in  an  abstrcted  mood,  until  the  Hunter's  Moon,  red 
as  flame,  "the  moon  of  blood  and  passion,"  as  the  In- 
dians called  it,  rose  clear  above  the  wild  and  rugged 
landscape.  She  was  trying  with  her  unschooled  mind  to 
reason  out  many  things,  chief  of  which  was  why  her 
husband  preferred  the  cold  and  gloomy  hunting  shack 
over  there  in  Aughwick  to  the  comforts  and  warmth 
of  his  own  fireside.  Hunting  was  all  right,  as  game  was 
plentiful,  and  bear  meat  and  venison  varied  the  larder, 
but  he  had  killed  so  many  animals,  thousands  during 
his  short  life,  that  it  must  pall  on  him  after  a  while. 
Thus  far  he  had  shown  no  signs  of  weariness,  but 
never  missed  a  chance  to  hunt,  and  especially  during 
the  life  of  the  Hunter's  Moon,  the  lurid  moon  of  blood 
and  passion.  She  had  tried  to  make  his  home  com- 
fortable in  every  way,  and  been  a  good  wife  to  him 
from  the  start,  but  he  was  always  prone  to  wander, 
and  nothing  could  satisfy  him.  What  could  she  do  to 
keep  him  at  home?  There  her  untrained  faculties 
balked  at  the  solution.  Of  course  she  could  go  with 
him  to  his  hunting  shanty  and  be  his  cook  and  helper, 
but  he  always  declined  her  offers,  saying  that  it  was 
no  place  for  a  woman,  just  one  small  room  with  a 

300 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  301 


bunk  against  the  wall,  and  always  smelling  of  blood 
and  bides  and  entrails.  He  bad  painted  such  a  horrid 
picture  that  she  had  never  even  once  visited  the  place 
near  the  warm  spring  in  the  very  depths  of  Aughwick. 
She  was  pondering,  and  unfruitfully,  when  she  saw 
a  tall,  erect  figure  come  through  the  gate  and  approach 
the  kitchen  door.  She  had  the  door  open  before  he  had 
time  to  knock,  as  she  recognized  the  visitor,  old  Indian 
Isaac.  This  redman  was  the  last  of  his  race  to  remain 
permanently  in  Path  Valley ;  he  was  a  familiar  figure 
at  all  the  farmhouses,  at  harvest  and  butchering  times, 
and  possessed  a  wealth  of  legendary  and  historic  lore. 
In  the  old  days  he  brought  many  scalps  to  Fort  Little- 
ton, and  was  held  high  in  the  confidence  of  the  gov- 
ernment representatives.  Well  over  eighty  years  of 
age,  his  carriage  was  so  erect  and  graceful  that  if  a 
stranger  saw  him  in  the  dusk  without  noticing  his  face 
be  could  pass  easily  for  a  young  man.  His  face  was 
seamed  with  a  thousand  wrinkles,  but  his  little  black 
eyes  were  as  keen  and  penetrating  as  when  he  was  on 
the  war  path  once  half  a  century  before.  He  was 
man-of -all- work  for  the  farmers  in  the  valley,  not 
because  he  liked  it,  but  he  had  to  support  himself  to 
remain,  as  the  game  was  too  scarce  for  his  way  of 
thinking.  While  the  white  hunters  favored  ring 
hunts,  bounties,  and  firing  the  woods  to  reduce  the 
amount  of  wild  life,  Indian  Isaac  bemoaned  the  scar- 
city as  compared  to  the  days  of  his  youth,  when  even 
the  lordly  bison  had  passed  up  and  down  the  Tuscarora 
Path. 


302  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


The  old  aborigine  noted  the  worried,  careworn  face 
of  Josephus  Van  Lierla's  young  wife,  and  asked  her  if 
there  was  anything  he  might  do  for  her.  The  young 
woman  looked  at  him  a  while  in  silence,  as  if  wishing 
to  confide  something,  yet  pride  was  withholding  it. 
In  turn  the  red  man  looked  at  her,  observing  that 
despite  her  brown  hair  and  blue  eyes  there  was  some- 
thing of  the  Indian  cast  of  features  about  her — the 
high  cheek  bones,  the  deep  eyesockets,  the  yellow  dusk- 
iness of  her  complexion,  the  tendency  to  be  "raw- 
bone"  in  her  general  conformation.  For  that  reason 
he  felt  more  strongly  drawn  to  her,  as  he  knew  that 
Indian  blood  was  ever  a  surging  misfit  that  could  never 
fuse  in  the  veins  of  most  white  people.  At  last  the 
hidden  spring  of  sympathy  between  the  girl  and  the 
old  redman  seemed  to  coalesce,  and  she  opened  out 
her  heart  to  him.  She  explained  how  lonely  she  felt, 
that  after  the  most  earnest  efforts  to  make  her  hus- 
band comfortable  and  happy,  he  preferred  his  hunting 
shack  in  the  Aughwick  Valley,  where  he  would  re- 
main for  weeks  at  a  time,  and  always  during  the  moon 
now  at  the  zenith,  the  Hunter's  Moon:  She  had  won- 
dered why  this  particular  moon  always  attracted  him 
so  much,  to  which  he  replied  that  game  was  more  plen- 
tiful— which  statement  she  doubted.  Was  there  any 
way  to  get  him  home  and  make  him  stay?  If  she  was 
at  fault  she  would  gladly  mend  her  ways ;  yet  to  the 
best  of  her  recollection  she  had  always  been  a  hard- 
working, devoted  and  patient  wife.  Tears  stood  out  in 
her  deep-set  blue  eyes  when  she  finished ;  there  was 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  303 

conviction  in  the  very  tones  of  her  voice.  The 
Indian  was  deeply  impressed  by  her  remarks,  and 
replied  that  while  he  dreaded  to  give  her  pain, 
it  was  his  policy  always  to .(tell  the  truth;  it  would 
be  best  to  hear  it  hear  it  first  as  last,  as  despite 
its  unpleasantness  it  contained  the  cure.  The 
wife  was  very  much  interested,  and  begged  him 
to  explain  matters,  to  spare  her  no  detail.  "The 
Hunter's  Moon  is  a  bad  moon,"  the  Indian  began.  "It 
is  responsible  for  much  of  the  lawlessness  and  sin  of 
this  world,  to  our  people  who  have  no  laws  or  sins 
we  called  it  the  'moon  of  blood  and  passion.'  There 
are  some  men  who  know  how  to  bewitch  themselves  ; 
I  am  sorry  to  say  that  most  of  this  knowledge  was  de- 
rived from  us,  though  put  to  bad  use — though  there 
were  Scotch  women  and  Dutch  women  came  into  this 
country  who  knew  as  many  spells  as  any  Indian. 
Anyhow,  the  power  to  cast  spells  is  known,  and  in  this 
valley  belongs  to  a  small  secret  society  of  which  your 
husband  may  be  a  member.  I  do  not  say  that  he  is.  but 
I  have  seen  him  in  the  company  of  some  men  who  are. 
I  could  have  joined  when  I  was  younger,  but  I  knew 
enough  of  the  black  art  as  it  was,  was  more  anxious 
to  forget  it  than  to  penetrate  deeper  into  life's  mys- 
teries. I  know  this  much  about  the  organization : 
The  members  have  the  power  during  the  Hunter's 
Moon,  and  for  a  night  at  a  time  during  several  other 
moons,  to  make  any  woman  come  to  them  whom  they 
desire.  My  belief  is  that  your  husband  has  some  one 
with  him  in  that  shack  at  Aughwick,  and  if  you  will 


304 


go  there  and  speak  to  her  you  will  lay  the  spell,  and 
she  can  never  be  with  him  again.  I  mean  that  partic- 
ular woman.  Once  your  man  knows  that  you  are 
aware  of  his  unlawful  doings  he  will  be  more  anxious 
to  remain  ait  home.  If  you  wish,"  Indian  Isaac  contin- 
ued, "I  will  go  to  his  camp  tonight  and  see  if  any  one 
is  with  him,  and  if  there  is,  tomorrow  night  we  can 
proceed  there  and  put  an  end  to  the  sinful  frolic." 
Van  Leirla's  wife  was  thoroughly  aroused  by  the 
recital ;  her  Scotch  blood,  with  its  possible  Indian 
strain,  gave  her  a  real  belief  in  the  mysticism  of  the 
mountains.  "If  you  will  take  me  to  Aughwick  to- 
night I  will  go."  said  the  girl,  with  emphasis.  "It  will 
be  a  fifteen-mile  walk  across  three  ranges  of  moun- 
tains, but  if  you  are  willing  to  go,  I  will  be  proud  to 
accompany  you  and  help  you  right  any  wrongs  which 
may  exist,"  replied  old  Isaac.  First  the  girl  said  she 
must  run  up  the  road  to  her  mother's  home,  on  the 
hilly  main  street  of  Fannettsburg,  and  tell  her  that 
she  was  leaving  for  her  husband's  camp  in  Aughwick 
and  would  not  be  back  for  a  couple  of  days.  Putting 
a  shawl  over  her  head,  she  raced  around  the  house 
and  up  the  road  to  her  mother's  home  in  the  quaint  old 
burg.  The  good  woman  was  considerably  surprised, 
as  this  was  her  daughter's  first  excursion  to  the  mucb- 
talked-of  shanty,  but  she  accepted  the  explanation, 
and  everything  was  now  in  readiness  for  departure 
She  rejoined  Indian  Isaac,  who  caused  her  to  put  on 
her  black  wolfskin  coat,  as  the  night  would  be  cold ; 
be  could  carry  it  for  her  if  it  became  irksome.  She 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  305 


then  wrapped  up  a  "snack,"  which  the  Indian  put  into 
his  pocket.  They  waited  until  all  the  ruddy  lights  about 
the  valley  had  been  extinguished,  as  they  did  not  want 
to  be  seen  going  off  together ;  no  one  would  be  on  the 
road  at  ten  o'clock  except  lovers,  and  they  would  be 
too  absorbed  to  notice  any  one  but  themselves.  In 
order  to  make  sure,  they  soon  left  the  road  and  fol- 
lowed a  narrow  lane,  fenced  on  either  side  with  stake 
and  riders,  which  led  toward  the  steep  face  of  Tusca- 
rora  Mountain.  Up  over  the  rocks  there  was  a  hun- 
ter's path  which  they  followed.  On  the  summit  they 
paused  to  admire  the  crimson  glory  of  the  Hunter's 
Moon,  presiding  over  the  passionate  destiny  of  so 
many  dwellers  in  all  the  deep,  dark  vales  below.  The 
young  wife  was  not  wearing  comfortable  shoes  for 
mountaineering,  and  her  feet  began  to  pain,  conse- 
quently the  expected  time  was  not  made — there  were 
frequent  pauses.  It  was  at  dusk  the  next  evening 
when  they  came  to  the  last  ridge,  Indian  Isaac  helping 
her,  and  were  in  sight  of  Josephus  Van  Lierla's  cabin 
by  the  warm  spring.  At  the  foot  of  the  mountain  the 
Indian  placed  himself  behind  a  giant  white  oak,  saying 
that  he  would  not  go  further,  that  if  she  found  any- 
thing to  denounce  the  female  to  her  face,  that  she 
would  fall  into  a  heap  of  grease  on  the  floor ;  if  he 
was  with  her  it  would  arouse  the  young  man  against 
him  and  the  settlers  would  band  together  to  drive  him 
away  or  have  him  sent  to  Carlisle  jail  on  some 
trumped-up  charge.  There  was  no  justice  for  the 
redman  if  he  got  in  the  toils  of  the  law.  The  girl  saw 


306  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

the  strength  of  his  contention,  and  went  forth  boldly. 

A  light  shone  in  the  single  window  of  the  shack, 
and  she  appeared  at  it  like  the  Spirit  of  Vengeance. 
Within  she  witnessed  a  most  unpleasant  scene.  By 
the  light  from  the  great  fireplace  she  could  see  her 
husband  seated  on  a  great  easy  chair,  on  his  lap  and 
with  his  arms  around  her,  and  her  cheek  against  his, 
was  the  form  of  beautiful  Grizel  Fullion,  the  rich  iron 
master's  daughter  from  Redmond  Furnace.  She,  the 
proud,  haughty,  exclusive  beauty,  who  drew  a  line 
with  every  one,  was  consorting  in  a  rude  cabin  in  the 
wilds  with  a  bear  hunter.  Wild  with  rage,  the  ill- 
treated  wife  rushed  to  the  door;  if  it  was  locked  the 
fury  gave  her  strength,  and  the  bolts  gave  way.  She 
stood  before  them,  a  look  of  hate  in  her  black  eyes. 
The  tall,  slim,  clinging  form  of  the  iron  master's 
daughter  struggled  to  her  feet,  with  a  woman's  in- 
stinct trying  to  smooth  down  her  taupe-colored  skirt, 
the  unkempt  masses  of  her  huge  shock  of  dark  hair. 
Color  was  appearing  in  her  white  cheeks,  there  was 
only  terror  in  her  fine  gray  eyes. 

"You  bar  guest!"  the  injured  wife  railed  at  her. 
"Why  are  you  here  with  my  husband,  leaving  me  all 
alone?  Begone,  you  rigg.  Go  back  to  the  big  house 
where  you  belong."  She  could  have  said  more,  but 
the  beautiful  and  languorous  figure  of  Grizel  Fullion 
collapsed  in  a  heap  on  the  floor.  When  the  amazed 
husband  rushed  forward  to  assist  her,  nothing  was  to 
be  seen  but  a  pool  of  rancid  grease.  The  bar  guest 
was  gone. 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  307 


Bold  hunter  that  he  was,  Josephus  Van  Lierla  was 
too  frightened  to  be  angry  at  his  wife.  He  stood  look- 
ing at  her,  trembling  from  head  to  foot.  She  now  had 
the  mastery,  and  was  prepared  to  use  it. 

"You  sought  to  deceive  me  about  you  love  of  hunt- 
ing," she  began.  "I  don't  think  you  ever  cared  for  it. 
You  liked  the  women  more.  This  camp  has  been  an 
excuse  for  you  to  conjure  up  all  the  pretty  faces  and 
forms  you  admired,  and  have  them  here  for  your 
pleasure,  while  I  toiled  at  home,  alone.  You  felt  so 
proud  tonight  to  have  the  iron  master's  daughter  on 
your  lap,  with  her  cheek  against  yours,  but  where  is 
she  now?  Faugh,  nothing  but  a  pool  of  ugly  grease 
on  the  floor.  I  will  not  hold  this  against  you,  for  I 
would  still  love  you  if  I  found  you  with  a  dozen  women 
in  your  arms,  but  this  business  must  come  to  an  end. 
I  want  your  thoughts  as  well  as  your  body,  and  I  will 
lay  every  ghost  girl  that  comes  near  you.'' 

Josephus  Van  Lierla  still  had  nothing  to  say;  he 
was  sheepish  and  crestfallen  ;  his  shrewd  deceptions 
were  revealed,  and  life  could  never  be  ihe  same  again. 
"I  am  going  to  keep  you  at  home  after  this,"  said  the 
wife,  and,  suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  she  snatched 
a  burning  brand  from  the  fire,  and  threw  it  on  to  the 
mass  of  grease  where  Grisel  Fullion  had  lately  stood. 
'I  here  was  a  flash  of  flame,  and  Van  Lierla  and  his 
wife  had  barely  time  to  escape  from  the  blazing  build- 
ing. From  a  safe  point  on  the  mountain  side  they 
watched  the  shanty  burning,  the  wife  happy  and  exult- 
ing, the  husband  cowed  and  befuddled.  They  were 


308  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


standing  not  twenty  feet  from  the  great  white  oak 
which  sheltered  Indian  Isaac,  who  remained  to  wit- 
ness the  entire  evening's  proceedings.  After  the 
shanty  had  burned  down  to  a  heap  of  ruddy  coals,  the 
triumphant  young  wife  escorted  her  husband  across 
the  mountains  to  the  snug  little  cottage  at  the  outskirts 
of  Fannettsburg.  Not  once  did  she  discuss  the  hap- 
penings at  the  shanty,  but  was  cheerful  and  loving 
the  entire  distance. 

Indian  Isaac,  unobserved,  was  following  them,  lest 
Josephus  grow  angry  and  attack  his  wife,  but  he  soon 
saw  that  she  was  the  tactful  mistress  of  the  situation. 
When  they  came  to  the  bars  at  the  foot  of  the  lane, 
he  saw  the  wife  put  her  arm  around  her  husband's  neck 
and  kiss  him.  The  Indian  followed  until  the  cottage 
door  closed  on  them  and  went  oft"  happy  on  up  the 
valley  to  his  miserable  hut  near  the  foot  of  Amberson's 
Knob. 

It  was  winter  time,  and  there  had  been  a  deep  fall 
of  snowr  before  Van  Lierla's  wife  saw  him  again.  She 
was  seated  at  her  kitchen  window,  sewing  and  hum- 
ming a  camp-meeting  tune,  when  she  observed  him 
coming  up  the  valley  from  the  direction  of  Fort  Lou- 
don.  Her  husband  was  in  the  wood-shed,  sawing 
wood,  and  she  was  happy.  The  tall,  erect  redman 
came  through  the  gate  and  around  the  house,  while  the 
young  wife  ran  to  the  door  to  admit  him.  ''There's  no 
one  here,"  she  whispered.  "I'm  glad  to  see  you  again." 
The  Indian  took  a  seat  in  a  corner  of  the  fireplace, 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  309 


raking  the  embers  with  his  iromvood  staff.  "How 
goes  things?"  he  said.  "I  have  found  happiness," 
replied  the  girl.  "Josephus  has  never  absented 
himself  a  single  night  since  we  brought  him  home  from 
Aughwick.  He  is  as  good  and  kind  now  as  he  was 
cold  and  indifferent  formerly."  Then  she  recited  the 
entire  story  of  the  visit  to  the  shanty. 

The  Indian  smiled  as  best  he  could,  for  his  was  a 
cynical,  cruel  face,  the  result  of  nearly  a  century  of 
injustices,  and  it  wras  hard  to  look  pleasant.  He  ex- 
pressed his  gratification  at  what  she  had  told  him.  ''I 
have  still  more  interesting  news,"  he  said.  "I  have 
come  from  the  furnace  today,  where  I  heard  that  the 
iron  master's  daughter  has  been  bedridden  ever  since 
about  the  time  you  encountered  her  at  Aughwick.  She 
collapsed  on  the  parlor  floor  that  night,  and  it  was  fear- 
ed that  she  would  die  ;  as  it  is,  every  bit  of  flesh  has 
left  her  body,  and  they  say  she  looks  like  a  skeleton 
She  was  out  of  her  head  the  night  she  was  taken  down, 
and  the  help  say  that  she  talked  something  scandalous, 
using  terrible  language,  as  if  abusing  some  woman 
whose  husband  she  was  in  love  with.  Her  family  were 
shocked,  as  she  was  always  so  proud  and  haughty  and 
reserved.  They  had  to  strap  her  down  in  bed  for 
days,  she  had  such  violent  fits;  they  say  that  if  she 
ever  gets  out  she  will  never  look  like  the  same  person 
again." 

The  young  wife  listened  attentively.  "Indian 
Isaac,"  she  said,  *'I  am  sorry  for  the  girl.  She  may 
not  have  gone  to  Aughwick  willingly.  She  may  have 


310  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


been  dragged  there  by  a  spell  or  incantation.  I  wish 
that  we  could  help  her.'' 

"You  are  too  good,"  said  the  Indian.  "I  know 
enough  of  this  black  art  to  tell  you  that  unless  a  person 
has  a  natural  streak  cf  lowness  or  vice  they  cannot  be 
lured  away  by  any  charm  or  spell.  I  am  not  sorry  for 
her.  All  that  is  bad  in  her  is  being  drained  out  by  her 
bed  of  sickness.  If  she  gets  up  she  will  be  worthy  of 
the  stock  she  comes  from,  worthy  of  the  beautiful 
mask  she  wore.  I  have  no  pity  for  counterfeits  or 
frauds,  but  1  will  rejoice  if  she  becomes  the  lady  that 
birth  and  opportunities  intended  her  to  be." 

Just  then  there  was  a  tramping  on  the  Kitchen  steps. 
It  was  Josephus  Van  Lierla  shaking  the  snow  from  his 
boots,  coming  in  to  get  a  little  warmth.  The  Indian 
noted  his  pleasant  demeanor  towards  his  wife — in  fact, 
the  love  light  in  his  eyes — and  after  a  little  chat  took 
his  departure.  All  the  way  up  the  valley  to  Amber- 
son's  Knob  he  chuckled  over  his  victory  over  the 
black  art. 


XXIII.    The  Lion's  Garden 

UP  AT  the  heading  of  McCahe's  Run  there  is  a 
rocky,  castellated  eminence  that  overlooks  the 
Cumberland  Valley,  which  was  formerly  known 
as  the  Lion's  Garden.  It  is  as  difficult  of  access  as  it 
is  barren  of  vegetation — a  mass  of  huge  rocks  and 
clefts,  one  piled  upon  another,  admirable  dens  for  wild 
beasts  in  the  long  ago.  On  the  very  top,  back  of  the 
fortress-like  abutments,  there  is  a  flat,  level  sfetch  of 
gravel  rock,  on  which  a  few  stunted  jack  pines  clutch 
n  ith  bare.  hard,  shriveled  claws,  that  is  the  lion's  gar 
den  or  playground  proper.  In  the  old  days  the  formid- 
able panthers  or  Pennsylvania  lions  made  theit  home 
at  this  seemingly  impenetrable  retreat,  rearing  their 
young  in  the  clefts  and  caves,  and  sunning  themselves 
and  disporting  with  their  cubs  on  the  level  surface  of 
the  "garden."  ( )n  nights  when  the  thermometer  ran 
low  and  the  blood  of  the  noble  beasts  coursed  high  they 
would  approach  the  very  steepest  pinnacle  and  roar  at 
the  valley  beneath,  sometimes  being  answered  by  other 
panthers  miles  away  on  distant  summits.  Some  early 
hunters  claimed  that  panthers  at  the  ''garden"  were 
answered  by  their  kind  clear  across  the  Cumberland 
Valley  on  the  topmost  crags  of  the  South  Mountain 
chain.  Needless  to  say,  the  presence  of  these  monsters 
incited  the  bold  to  seek  them  out.  and  caused  weaker 
spirits  to  shun  the  broad  mountain  fortresses  where 
they  abounded.  This,  of  course,  was  many  years  ago, 
shortly  after  the  Revolutionary  War,  in  fact,  for  the 

311 


312  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

panther  has  not  bred  or  harbored  in  that  region  in 
nearly  a  century.  Every  now  and  then  stories  are 
whispered  about  in  the  old  stores  in  Upper  Strasburg, 
Bloserville  and  New  Germantown  and  similar  places 
that  so-and-so  saw  a  panther  in  the  mountains,  but 
outside  of  Phil  Wright,  who  has  encountered  several 
wandering  specimens  of  the  tribe  during  his  wide  ex- 
perience in  the  mountains,  most  of  the  stories  are  due 
to  a  misconception  of  the  animal.  Few  dwellers  in  the 
South  Mountains,  the  Cumberland  Valley  or  the  Broad 
Mountains  have  ever  seen  a  panther  ;  consequently  it  is 
easy  to  confuse  the  long-tailed  king  of  Pennsylvania 
beasts  with  a  good-sized  bob  cat. 

Not  long  ago  the  seclusion  of  the  Lion's  Garden 
was  invaded  by  a  party  of  cat-hunters,  who,  near  the 
Kake  Oven,  drove  a  monster  wildcat  into  the  rocks 
after  it  had  nearly  torn  to  pieces  two  stout  hounds. 
The  hunters,  not  to  be  daunted,  applied  dynamite, 
tearing  the  animal's  rocky  hiding  place  to  bits.  Thus, 
in  order  to  slay  one  of  God's  beautiful  and  interesting 
creatures,  a  great  natural  wonder  that  had  stood  the 
ages  was  blasted  away  and  the  Maker's  handiwork 
marred  forever.  Was  the  cat's  life  worth  this  hideous 
vandalism?  And,  after  all,  was  it  not  better  to  know 
that  there  was  a  real  wildcat  in  the  Lions'  Garden  than 
to  bear  its  moist  and  blood-stained  hide  down  to  Car- 
lisle for  the  edfication  of  the  curious  and  to  claim  the 
tainted  bounty  ? 

Mary  Jemison,  famed  as  the  White  Woman  of  the 
Genessee,  lived  for  a  time  in  a  hillside  clearing  below 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  313 


the  Lion's  Garden.  She  knew  some  of  the  legends  of 
the  neighborhood,  which  she  often  told  to  her  descend- 
ants. She  had  been  carried  off  as  a  child  by  the  In- 
dians, but  would  never  return  to  civilization,  because 
the  whites  had  been  too  unjust  to  the  Indians,  she  said, 
and  if  she  had  heard  a  tale  which  happened  right  at  the 
Garden  years  after  she  left  there,  she  might  have  been 
even  more  bitter  against  her  own  race.  This  story, 
which  is  still  repeated  by  some  of  the  very  old  people, 
tells  of  the  supposed  lack  of  protection  which  the  laws 
gave  to  the  Indians,  which  was  much  like  the  treatment 
accorded  in  many  localities  to  our  Negro  population 
today. 

During  the  latter  years  of  the  Revolution  there  was 
a  deserter  by  the  name  of  Cain  Smithgall.  He  was 
not  without  courage,  for  he  had  been  wounded  at 
Brandywine ;  but  his  desertion  was  caused  by  the 
reason  which  has  made  so  many  enlisted  men  false  to 
their  trust,  the  ill  treatment  by  an  officer.  Of  moun- 
tain origin,  he  came  from  the  Welsh  Mountains  of 
Lancaster  County,  a  miniature  highland  region  that 
lias  produced  a  particularly  self-reliant  race  of  people, 
and  some  outlaws — among  the  latter  the  redoubtable 
Abe  Buzzard — he  could  not  endure  the  brutal  super- 
ciliousness of  his  lieutenant.  Rather  than  shoot  the 
officer  in  the  back  he  took  to  the  timber,  and  after  many 
wanderings  found  himself  far  beyond  the  pale  of  civil- 
ization on  the  banks  of  Moshannon  Creek.  He  lived 
for  a  time  by  hunting  and  fishing,  until  one  evening  a 
lone  Indian  girl,  with  scars  on  her  cheeks,  chanced  to 


314  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

pass  his  cabin  door.  He  called  to  her,  and,  after  she 
realized  that  he  meant  no  harm,  she  stopped  and  told 
him  her  unhappy  story. 

There  were  two  sisters,  she  said,  twins,  so  much 
alike  that  one  wore  red  ribbon  in  her  hair,  the  other 
yellow,  to  distinguish  them  apart,  who  lived  near  one 
of  the  sources  of  the  Little  Conewago,  in  the  South 
Mountain  country.  They  were  of  the  Lenni  Lenape 
affiliation,  the  very  last  in  the  neighborhood  but  for 
their  aged  parents  and  grandparents.  Farther  down 
the  stream  lived  a  prosperous  white  family  whose  son 
had  become  an  officer  of  the  Colonial  forces.  He  was 
handsome  to  look  upon,  but  proud  and  conceited  over 
his  rapid  progress  in  the  army.  This  was  not  alto- 
gether due,  she  averred,  to  his  military  aptness,  but 
becraise  his  mother  belonged  to  one  of  the  large  land- 
owning- families  of  Lancaster  County,  possessed  of 
much  political  influence. 

The  girl  had  fallen  in  love  with  the  officer,  and  met 
him  frequently  in  the  forest  when  he  came  home  on 
leave,  but  when  she  confessed  her  love  to  her  sister 
the  twin  tore  her  hair  and  said  that  she,  too,  loved  the 
same  man  and  would  kill  herself  before  she  could  see 
her  married  to  him.  The  girl  replied  that  he  had 
never  even  intimated  marriage,  that  such  an  event 
might  never  take  place,  as  his  parents  would  oppose 
such,  a  union,  but  the  twin's  tantrum  continued  ;  she 
would  not  be  comforted  if  her  sister  ever  saw  him 
again  or  even  thought  of  him.  The  Indian  girl,  pos- 
sessed of  the  high  ideals  of  her  race,  was  in  a  quan- 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  315 


clary  ;  she  could  not  live  without  seeing  the  officer,  yet 
she  must  not  break  her  twin's  heart.  She  made  a  bold 
proposition  to  the  selfish  twin.  That  was  that  they 
should  both  travel  west,  exposing  themselves  to  all 
dangers,  until  they  came  to  some  yawning  precipice, 
where  they  would  jump  off,  hand  in  hand,  and  end 
their  unsatisfactory  lives  together.  The  two  accepted 
the  plan  "without  reservations, "vas  she  saw  no  way  to 
conquer  her  sister's  love  for  the  young  officer. 

In  the  dead  of  night,  in  the  midst  of  a  storm,  they 
crept  out  of  the  parental  cabin  and  started  for  the 
west.  They  had  many  adventures  on  the  way,  were 
followed  by  wolves,  insulted  by  bold  woodsmen,  and 
the  like,  but,  generally  speaking,  they  found  more  kind- 
liness and  hospitality  than  anything  else,  and  were 
forced  to  travel  several  moons  before  they  came  to  a 
precipice  terrible  enough  to  mean  certain  death.  At 
last  they  came  to  a  great  ledge  of  rocks  overlooking 
the  vast  pineries  of  what  is  now  called  Clearfield 
County.  ( )ff  to  the  north  rose  the  three  mighty  knobs, 
held  sacred  by  the  Senecas,  while  here  and  there  n 
glimpse  was  to  be  had  of  the  meandering  course-  of 
the  Sinnemahoning  and  the  Susquehanna.  With 
clasped  hands  they  said :  "We  die  for  Lieutenant 
Bilger ;  these  are  his  rocks,  because  we  who  belong  n 
him  body  and  soul  desire  to  end  our  lives  from  them.'' 
With  a  last  glance  at  the  beauties  of  the  scene  abou1 
them  they  sprang  off  into  space. 

There  was  a  loud  thud  as  one  twin  struck  the 
flagging  beneath  and  was  crushed  to  pieces,  but  the 


316  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


other  girl's  skirt  caught  in  a  dead  limb  of  a  chestnut 
tree,  and  she  dangled  there,  head  downwards.  Such  a 
fate  was  worse  than  death,  as  her  sufferings  were  ex- 
cruciating. Ultimately  she  must  die,  but  it  would  be 
slow  torture.  Worse  than  all,  a  golden  eagle  spied  her 
and,  dropping  from  the  heavens,  struck  at  her  face 
with  its  talons,  giving  it  several  deep  gashes  that  would 
leave  permanent  scars.  While  she  was  lapsing  into 
what  she  felt  would  be  final  unconsciousness,  she 
was  surprised  to  see  a  middle-aged  and  stout  Indian 
brave  looking  at  her  from  below.  He  procured  a  long 
and  powerful  chestnut  pole  and  hooked  her  down  as 
a  Lancaster  County  farmer  would  a  ham  in  a  smoke- 
house. Once  released,  the  blood  left  her  head,  and, 
despite  her  predicament,  she  no  longer  wanted  to  die. 
She  desired  to  return  to  the  officer  and  her  aged  pa- 
rents on  the  Little  Conewago. 

The  Indian  claimed  that  as  he  had  saved  her  life  she 
belonged  to  him,  and  he  kept  her  a  virtual  prisoner  at 
his  camp  near  the  Rocking  Stone  for  nearly  a  year. 
He  had  taken  sick,  and  she  was  out  looking  for  medici- 
nal herbs,  when  she  passed  the  deserter's  cabin.  The 
ex-soldier  had  met  this  ill-favored  Indian  several  times 
in  the  forests,  and  liked  him  none  too  well,  but  he  went 
with  the  girl  to  his  shack,  where  they  found  him  in 
the  midst  of  his  death  struggles.  He  passed  away  in 
about  an  hour,  and  they  buried  him  beside  the  Rocking 
Stone,  near  where  the  ferry  road  comes  down  the  hill. 
The  Indian  girl  rather  liked  the  deserter's  personality, 
but  when  she  mentioned  the  officer's  name  again  he 


The  Old  Ferry, 
Near  the  Rocking  Stone 

(Photograph  by 
Fred  C.  Miller) 


316 


SOUTH   MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


other  girt  •  skirt  caught  in  a  dead  limb  of  a  chestnut 
tree,  ami  she  dangled  there,  head  downwards.  Such  a 
fati-  \\.-is  worse  than  death,  a.s  her  sufferings  were  ex- 
erucu"'-ig.  Ultimately  she  nir.st  die,  hut  it  would  be 
slow  torture,  \\orse  than  nil.  a  golden  eagle  spied  her 
and,  dropping  from  the  heavens,  struck  at  her  face 
with  its  taions.  giving  it  sever;*!  deep  gashes  that  would 
leave  pe;  matient  scars.  V\  hile  -he  was  lapsing  into 
what  -iu.  ielt  wnnld  be  turai  unconsciousness,  ^he 
\va>  -'-.ir;. ns.-'d  {•)  see  a  middle-aged  and  stout  Indian 
y-^i.yi  "•'.irMHir'")1/'.  "Hi"  *TM("jhv. 


and   ••-  .- 

a  1  ,av:i  a 


R 


She  desired 
renr-i  on  the 
'I  lie  Trtlia 
belong 
his  can; 


•'"^WWtf'i"; 

ounty'rafnier  wouTc]  a  ham  11 
snoJ2  yiubog  sHJ  -UBS/I 

t.dicaiiient,  she  no  longer  war 


i.ittle  C. 

i  claimed  that  an  !H:  h.iul  sa         : 


r  down  as 
a  sinoke- 
iead,  and, 
ted  to  die. 
r  aged  pa- 


r  le  she 


nrn,  and  he  keiil  tier  a  virtual  prisoner  at 
i1  iie-u    the   Rocking  Stone    for  nearly  a  year. 


He  had  u;L'M    ick   and  ^hc  was  out  looking  for  medici- 
j  ;:^sed  the  deserter's  cabin.     The 
ft  tins  ill-favored  Indian  several  times 
:i  'iked  him  none  too  well,  but  he  went 
ins  sh.H'k    where  they   found  him  in 
v.-jtp  >t'uggle<.     He  passed  away  in 
•  :  they  buried  him  beside  the  Rocking 
IMC  ferry  road  comes  down  the  hill. 
r;n  ser  liked  the  deserter's  personality, 


nal  herbs  ,>.-':en 
ex- soli  lie  i  li;--:,  '* 
in  the  fofe-t.-.  ::: 
with  the  g:ri 
tl;e  ir^ids:  of  }}',•• 
••\l)'"'tir  :in  hour.  ;; 
Stone,  rear  whe 
The  Iruiian  irirl 


ut 


-^iie  nv.  rrioned  the  officer's  name  asjain  he 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  317 

forbade  her  to  ever  do  so,  as  he  was  the  cause  of  his 
desertion  from  the  patriot  cause  which  he  had  loved 
so  well.  The  shock  of  so  many  changes  had  turned 
the  girl's  heart  currents  awry,  and  she  soon  came  to 
dislike  the  memory  of  the  officer  as  much  as  she  had 
formerly  loved  him.  He  was  an  anathema  to  her,  just 
the  same  as  to  Cain  Smithgall. 

The  Indian  girl  and  the  deserter  were  happy  to- 
gether, but  they  both  felt  an  instinctive  longing  to 
move  back  nearer  to  their  earlier  homes.  Where  they 
lived  was  too  much  of  a  wilderness,  the  forests  were 
too  uniformly  black  and  solemn,  there  were  too  many 
wolves,  too  many  uncanny  sounds  at  night.  Ultimately 
they  traveled  across  the  mountains  until  they  came  to 
the  superb  level  fortress  rock  known  as  the  Lion's 
Garden.  There  beyond  them  lay  a  view  that  en- 
chanted their  souls,  for  the  day  was  clear,  the  "first 
cold  snap"  in  September.  Heyond  the  fields  and  groves 
of  many  colors  in  the  valley  rose  the  South  Mountains, 
where  the  Conewago  headed,  and  a  patch  of  silver 
told  where  the  lordly  Susquehanna  flowed,  and  further 
away  were  dim,  gray  outlines  of  hills  that  might  have 
been  spurs  of  the  Welsh  Mountains.  Could  they  live 
on  that  remote,  breeze-swept  pinnacle?  It  was  almost 
in  sight  of  the  girl's  former  home  and  his !  Smithgall 
had  his  rifle;  there  would  always  be  game,  and  he 
might  be  able  to  work  a  few  days  every  harvest  for 
farmers  in  Horse  Valley,  Amberson's  Valley  or  Path 
Valley,  where  he  was  not  known,  and  thereby  earn  the 
winter's  grist  There  was  a  great  cleft  between  two  huge 


318  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


boulders  that,  if  roofed  over,  would  make  a  tolerable 
home.  He  had  heard  his  mother,  who  came  from  the 
North  of  Ireland,  say  that  Prince  Charlie,  who  sought 
to  be  king  of  Scotland,  had  lived  in  a  box  in  a  tree  for 
three  months  after  a  price  had  been  put  on  his  head'. 
He  went  to  work  with  a  will  and  soon  had  a  tolerably 
comfortable  abode  constructed.  Its  roof  did  not  pro- 
ject above  the  top  of  the  ''garden,"  therefore  it  would 
not  be  apparent  from  the  valleys ;  the  smoke  was  car- 
ried out  through  a  wooden  pipe  towards  Horse  Valley. 

They  were  very  happy  in  this  new  home ;  they 
would  have  been,  even  if  the  panthers  still  harbored 
there.  One  night  they  were  visited  by  an  amorous 
Pennsylvania  lion.  It  was  in  the  late  fall,  and  the 
giant  feline  stood  on  a  crag  which  overhung  the  valley 
and  roared  out  his  soul  to  the  wilderness.  Smithgall 
and  the  Indian  girl,  whom  he  called  "Scar  Face," 
climbed  to  the  top  of  the  garden,  just  so  that  their 
heads  appeared,  and  watched  the  tawny  brute  perform 
his  weird  cantata.  There  were  other  visitors  from  the 
wilds,  deer,  bears,  wildcats,  wolves,  foxes,  eagles, 
vultures  and  hosts  of  smaller  birds,  including  Carolina 
parrots  and  passenger  pigeons,  all  of  which  added  to 
the  enjoyment  of  the  mountain  retreat.  Smithgall  was 
able  to  find  work  in  the  valleys  and  provided  the  win- 
ter's grist,  which  he  bore  on  his  back  across  the 
Tri-Mountain  road  clear  to  a  mill  in  Path  Valley. 

One  morning  late  in  November,  Scar  Face,  carrying 
an  earthen  crock  on  her  head,  was  on  her  way  down 
the  gorge  below  the  Lion's  Garden  to  a  copious  spring 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  319 

which  flowed  from  under  the  vast  agglomeration  of 
mighty  rocks.  It  was  sweet  water,  but  a  trifle  unhandy 
to  secure  when  the  weather  was  inclement.  As  she 
tripped  down  the  steep  path,  the  sun  shining  on  her 
from  among  the  glassy  needles  of  the  old  yellow  pines, 
she  came  face  to  face  with  Lieutenant  Bilger,  going  up 
the  mountain  on  a  deer  hunt.  He  was  leading  two 
large  hounds  on  leash,  which  he  would  let  loose  when 
he  got  to  the  top  of  the  mountain.  The  young  man 
had  grown  coarse  and  sensual  looking,  being  about  the 
same  type  physically  as  the  Indian  at  the  Rocking 
Stone,  and  Scar  Face  detested  him  as  much.  The  girl 
had  gained  in  beauty,  her  face  was  very  winning,  ova! 
shaped,  with  almond-shaped  eyes,  a  soft  flush  of  pink 
in  her  brown  cheeks,  which  the  deep  scars  marred  very 
little,  a  form  voluptuous  and  shapely. 

The  former  officer  glared  at  her  as  a  fox  would  at 
the  sight  of  a  lovely  pheasant.  Then  he  placed  his 
rifle  in  the  hand  which  held  the  dog-chains  and  caught 
her  around  the  waist  and  drew  her  towards  him.  It 
was  all  done  so  suddenly  that  the  earthen  pot  fell  to 
the  rocky  path  with  a  crash,  and  she  screamed  out  with 
chagrin  and  terror.  "Shut  your  mouth,  girl,"  said 
Bilger ;  "come  along  with  me,  just  as  you  used  to 
during  the  war;  I  am  surprised  at  your  indifference." 

Just  then  a  shot  rang  out  from  a  point  one  hundred 
feet  farther  up  the  path.  The  officer  clutched  the  air 
and  fell  in  a  heap,  dead,  with  a  bullet  hole  through  his 
temple.  Smithgall  soon  appeared,  swearing  and  carry- 
ing his  smoking  flintlock.  "I  could  not  help  it,"  he 


320  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


said,  "when  I  saw  the  man  who  ruined  my  life  taking 
such  liberties  with  you  I  had  to  shoot.  I  knew  that 
there  would  be  no  justice  for  an  Indian  before  the 
law."  "You  do  not  need  to  explain  anything,"  replied 
Scar  Face.  "You  gave  him  what  he  deserved,  but  our 
happy  days  are  ended." 

That  afternoon  a  strange-looking  couple  were  seen 
wending  their  way  down  the  mountain  roads  towards 
Carlisle,  hand  in  hand.  The  man  wore  a  heavy  beard, 
was  shabbily  dressed,  and  carried  a  blunderbuss  slung 
across  his  back.  The  woman,  who  was  younger,  was 
of  an  Indian  or  Oriental  cast  of  countenance,  and 
dressed  in  a  costume  that  was  partly  Indian  and  mostly 
rags.  Entering  the  town  after  dark,  they  made  their 
way  to  the  home  of  the  gaoler,  alongside  the  forbid- 
ding-looking old  bastile.  Knocking  at  the  door,  they 
were  soon  admitted  and  in  the  kitchen  recited  the  story 
of  the  murder.'  "1  give  myself  up,"  said  the  man,  "be- 
cause I  do  not  want  any  one  to  think  that  my  wife  had 
anything  to  do  with  the  crime.  I  killed  the  brute  to 
protect  her,  because  I  know  that  no  law  exists  for  the 
Indian  people." 

The  couple  were  put  in  adjoining  cells  for  safe- 
keeping, and  the  Judge  notified  next  morning.  What 
the  outcome  of  the  case  was  the  legend  does  not  state, 
but  there  is  no  record  of  the  hanging  of  any  one  named 
Cain  Smithgall  in  the  annals  of  Cumberland  County, 
and  it  is  stated  that  the  Sheriff  overheard  the  Judge 
remark,  as  he  signed  the  deserter's  commitment  papers, 
"It  seems  that  this  man  feels  that  the  law  of  the  land 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


321 


does  not  protect  the  Indians.     I  will  show  him  that  in 
my  Court  they  receive  consideration." 

Further  than  that  nothing  is  known,  but  the  cabin  in 
the  cleft  at  the  Lion's  Garden  was  never  again  tenanted 
and  gradually  the  roof  fell  in,  until  today  there  are  no 
signs  of  human  habitation  ever  having  been  there,  and 
the  story  of  the  panthers'  "playground"  has  been  to 
many  the  sole  tradition  of  this  wild  and  remote  moun- 
tain lookout. 


XXIV.    The  Man  of  Peace 

THERE  was  a  select  company  in  that  part  of  the 
kitchen  of  Ancketell's  Horse  Valley  Tavern, 
which  was  used  as  an  eating  room.  At  the  long 
table  sat  ok!  Highlander  McGarrah,  two  North  of 
Ireland  lawyers  from  Pittsburg,  Laughlin  and  Mc- 
Ginley,  who  were  trained  in  the  office  of  the  celebrated 
Brackenridge,  a  wealthy  landowner  from  Casey's  Knob 
named  MacKinnon,  and  last  but  not  least  Major  Gen- 
eral Arthur  St.  Clair,  of  Miami  fame.  The  Pittsburg 
lawyers  had  been  close  friends  ever  since  they  sailed 
up  the  Liffy  on  the  same  ship  bound  for  America,  but 
none  of  the  others  had  ever  met  before  that  evening. 
General  St.  Clair  was  returning  to  his  tumble-down 
farm  on  the  Chestnut  Ridge  after  an  unsuccessful  ef- 
fort to  secure  a  pension  at  Washington ;  he  had  be- 
come storm-stayed,  and,  meeting  a  group  of  men  of 
similar  racial  affiliations  and  social  position,  he  gave 
himself  up  to  an  evening's  social  enjoyment.  While 
the  carters,  drovers,  packers  and  nondescript  travelers 
thronged  the  tap-room  across  the  hall,  the  select  com- 
pany at  the  candle-lit  walnut  table,  with  all  the  exclu- 
siveness  which  they  deserved,  passed  the  hours  as  only 
men  of  breeding  and  experience  knew  how. 

Eleanor,  the  landlord's  charming  blonde  daughter, 
waited  on  the  distinguished  company  personally, 
noting  that  not  a  single  want  should  go  unrecorded, 
and  as  rounds  of  toddies  followed  faster  and  faster 

322 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  323 


they  became  as  convivial  as  Scotsmen  can  be,  happy 
but  not  hilarious. 

Across  the  hall,  in  the  bar,  talk  waxed  loud  ;  many 
voices  were  jabbering  and  joking  in  Pennsylvania 
Dutch.  It  was  all  coarse  and  boisterous,  but  the  elegant 
group  at  the  dining  room  table  seemed  entirely  oblivious 
of  the  carryings-on  of  the  underlings  as  if  they  did  not 
exist.  And  yet  not  a  single  one  of  the  five  gentlemen 
was  what  would  be  termed  a  snob— far  from  it.  they 
were  all  kindly,  genial  souls,  but  their  place  in  life  had 
instilled  in  them  a  dignity  and  a  reserve  which  no 
amount  of  good  spirits  would  unbend. 

Enough  liquor  always  reveals  the  true  man ;  the 
snob  or  veneered  gentleman  usually  gets  downright 
ugly  in  his  cups,  whereas  the  true  man  of  parts  is 
always  the  same,  drunk  or  sober.  As  the  evening 
wore  on,  and  one  subject  after  another  was  discussed 
and  laid  aside,  the  conversation  turned  to  ghosts  and 
apparitions,  usually  a  good  topic  to  bring  up  as  the 
clock  inclines  toward  the  witching  hour.  General  St. 
Clair  related  how  he  had  stopped  at  a  stone  farmhouse 
near  McMurrin's  Run,  in  the  Central  part  of  the 
State,  while  trying  to  establish  the  lines  of  one  of  his 
military  land  grants,  and  during  the  night  had  heard 
heavy  footsteps  on  the  attic  floor  above,  and  some 
booted  person  walking  down  stairs,  through  the  hall, 
unbolting  the  front  door  and  going  out  into  the  frosty 
yard. 

The  tenant's  wife  had  told  him  the  following  even- 
ing that  shortly  after  the  house  was  built  Indians 


324  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

slipped  in  and  with  axes  attacked  the  sleeping  occu- 
pant in  his  bunk,  completely  severing  the  body  above 
the  waist.  They  had  carried  the  torso,  arms  and  head 
away  with  them,  leaving  the  hips  and  legs  weltering  in 
the  bed.  Their  motive  was  one  of  pique  because  the 
settler's  \vife  and  daughters  were  not  at  home,  and 
the  chance  for  a  nice  string  of  captives  was  accordingly 
missed. 

The  heavy  footsteps  were  those  of  the  severed  body 
going  out  to  hunt  its  missing  trunk,  which  it  did  every 
night.  Xeeclless  to  say,  the  tenants  retired  to  their 
rooms  before  midnight,  but  many  persons  had  seen  it 
on  moonlight  nights  going  across  the  yard  to  the  barn, 
as  it  seemed  to  cherish  an  inclination  that  it  would  fin.l 
its  missing  parts  there.  "All  that  would  go  to  show," 
said  one  of  the  Pittsburg  lawyers,  "that  the  poor  fel- 
low who  was  murdered  went  to  bed  with  his  boots  on." 

The  other  lawyer  remarked  that  in  Donegal,  where 
he  was  born,  he  heard  of  a  bodyless  ghost  that  haunted 
a  ford,  where  it  frightened  travelers  so  severely  that 
numbers  fell  over  into  the  deep  water  and  were 
drowned.  "Bodyless  and  headless  ghosts  are  very 
common  in  Ireland,"  remarked  the  other  Pittsburger, 
''and  it  is  strange  to  find  the  same  superstition  over 
here  in  America." 

MacKinnon,  the  landowner  from  Casey's  Knob,  now 
took  a  part  in  the  conversation.  "Over  in  Green 
Castle,  which  town,  by  the  way.  has  such  a  fine  Irish 
name  that  it  makes  me  homesick  for  Lough  Foyle 
every  time  I  mention  it — there  was  quite  a  sensation  a 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  325 


few  weeks  ago,  when  a  very  estimable  lady,  while 
cutting  her  winter  cabbages  in  her  garden '  in  broad 
daylight,  on  chancing  to  look  back  at  her  house,  saw  a 
headless  woman,  dressed  in  a  gray,  shroud-like  garb, 
standing  at  one  of  the  windows.  Brandishing  her 
knife,  the  worthy  woman  hurried  to  the  house,  and 
went  in  by  the  back  door,  in  time  to  meet  the  headless 
woman  coming  down  the  back  stairs.  Her  courage 
must  have  failed,  for  she  stepped  aside  and  allowed 
the  apparition  to  come  down  by  her,  go  out  the  rear 
door,  and  disappear  among  the  old  boxwoods  and 
Irish  junipers  at  the  far  end  of  the  garden. 

"I  don't  think  her  courage  failed,  but  if  she  came 
from  Ireland  she  knew  that  it  brings  bad  luck  to  pass 
any  one  on  the  stairs,"  said  one  of  the  Pittsburg 
lawyers.  "Be  that  as  it  may,"  said  MacKinnon,  "I 
could  have  told  more  about  that  ghost  than  almost  any 
one,  but  I  held  my  tongue,  and  nobody  in  town  seems 
to  know  the  correct  story,  though  all  their  tongues 
are  wagging  and  every  kind  of  a  hazard  is  made.  I 
happened  to  know  all  about  it,  as  it  had  its  start  only 
about  thirty  years  ago,  during  our  Revolutionary 
War.  I  had  lately  arrived  from  the  North  of  Ireland, 
from  near  Uuncrana,  and  was  attracted  to  the  town  of 
Green  Castle  by  its  name.  I  had  a  sweetheart,  an 
earl's  daughter,  in  the  Irish  town  of  that  name.  I 
did  not  wed  her,  for  she  was  forced  to  marry  one  of 
her  own  station,  but  1  always  liked  -the  name  of 
Green  Castle  for  her  sake.  There  was  another  young 
Ulster  lad  in  the  town,  a  few  years  older  than  myself, 


326  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

young  Alex.  McClerrachan,  who  became  a  Captain  of 
Dragoons  in  the  American  Army.  I  joined  with  him 
and  became  his  orderly,  or  aide,  or  right-hand  man, 
whichever  you  prefer  to  call  it.  I  looked  after  his 
affairs  when  he  was  away ;  that  is,  I  was  passed 
through  the  lines  to  go  to  Green  Castle  whenever  he 
had  any  business  for  me  to  attend  to,  and  if  I  do  say  k 
myself,  I  carried  out  his  secret  commissions  well, 
thereby  laying  the  foundation  of  my  future  advance- 
ment in  life.  Among  other  confidential  duties  I  was 
to  look  after  his  lady  love,  the  beautiful  Deborah 
Swanwick,  who  lived  in  the  big  Colonial  mansion  near 
the  bridge  where  the  good  woman  saw  the  headless 
ghost.  There  were  a  hundred  things  I  might  do,  and  I 
tried  my  best  to  see  that  she  had  every  word  of  every 
message  that  my  young  master  sent,  and  gifts,  little 
and  big,  at  all  times.  The  Captain  was  an  ardent  lover, 
and  it  worried  him  to  be  away  from  his  beloved,  but 
he  was  also  a  fighting  man,  and  felt  that  his  duty  was 
right  in  the  thick  of  it.  Though  he  was  restless  and 
unhappy  when  away  from  her,  it  did  not  dim  his  mili- 
tary genius,  for  he  worked  out  many  a  ruse  de  guerre 
for  his  Colonel  that  earned  the  commendation  of 
General  Washington,  just  as  you,  sir,  General  St. 
Clair,  to  a  greater  degree  devised  the  plan  that  resulted 
in  the  victorious  battle  of  Princeton."  At  this  the 
jaded  countenance  of  the  old  General  colored  with  a 
conscious  pride,  and  he  expressed  his  appreciation  of 
the  compliment.  "One  morning,"  MacKinnon  went 
on,  ''the  Captain  told  me  that  he  had  had  some  very 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  327 


ugly  dreams,  such  as  crossing  dark,  angry  waters,  that 
he  always  dreamed  straight,  and  I  must  proceed  to 
Green  Castle  at  once.  We  were  lying  before  Trenton, 
and  it  took  some  effort  to  go  over  the  Delaware  and 
make  the  long  journey  overland.  Before  I  reached 
the  Castle  I  met  some  travelers  posting  away  from  it. 
Some  plague,  probably  the  cholera  had  broken  out 
there,  and  the  people  were  dying  like  flies.  I  went  to 
the  town  despite  the  warnings  and  visited  the  Cap- 
tain's betrothed.  Her  parents  were  absent,  visiting  a 
married  daughter  in  Baltimore,  and  she  was  in  the  big 
house  with  her  brother,  who  was  ill  with  some  trifling 
malady,  and  with  them  were  a  dozen  Negro  servants. 
1  urged  her  to  leave  town  and  not  to  run  the  risk  of 
catching  the  dreadful  scourge,  but  she  said  that  she 
would  hold  her  ground  and  not  think  of  leaving  her 
brother  until  he  was  entirely  recovered.  I  did  not  like 
this,  but  I  knew  how  deeply  she  loved  her  brother,  and 
I  was  undecided  whether  to  hurry  to  Baltimore  and 
warn  her  parents  or  go  back  to  the  Captain  before 
Trenton. 

I  decided  to  go  back  to  Trenton,  and  make  the  ride 
of  my  life  to  get  there.  My  heart  was  in  my  mouth, 
as  I  knew  how  my  chief  would  feel  when  I  gave  him 
my  report.  He  was  beside  himself  with  anxiety  when 
he  heard  the  news,  and  as  the  battle  was  going  our 
way  he  got  leave  and  set  out  immediately  to  Green 
Castle.  I  remained  at  headquarters  in  case  there  was 
any  call  for  information  which  he  possessed,  for  I  knew 
all  his  military  plans  and  arrangements.  I  have 


328  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 

heard  nhat  happened  at  Green  Castle  from  the  Cap- 
tain in  a  dozen  different  ways;  lie  was  always  so 
wrought  up  when  he  told  of  it  that  he  could  never  re- 
peat it  twice  alike,  and  in  another  dozen  ways  from 
the  Negro  servants.  From  what  I  judge  to  be  the 
correct  version  he  rushed  into  the  house  to  make  the 
girl  fly  with  him,  only  to  learn  from  the  old  Negro 
Syphax,  who  met  him  at  the  foot  of  the  great  stairs, 
in  the  hall  that  has  such  wonderful  Irish  paper  on  the 
walls,  that  she  had  died  of  the  plague,  and  that  he  had 
just  placed  her  in  her  coffin.  The  Captain  dashed  up 
the  stairs,  followed  by  the  Negro.  In  the  dead  girl's 
room  he  found  a  horrid  state  of  affairs.  When  she 
had  passed  away,  Syphax  sent  one  of  his  sons  to  order 
ii  coffin  from  a  cabinet  maker  whose  stock  was  natur- 
ally running  low ;  the  common  people  were  being 
buried  in  trenches  without  coffins,  and  the  lad  had  said 
that  a  young  girl  had  died.  The  cabinet  maker,  think- 
ing that  the  deceased  was  a  child,  sent  a  small  coffin, 
and  the  Negro  could  not  get  the  body  into  it  full 
length.  With  a  carving  knife  he  had  cut  off  her  head 
and  tried  to  put  it  in  the  coffin,  but  even  then  could 
not  close  down  the  lid.  When  the  Captain  entered  the 
room  the  head  lay  beside  the  coffin,  in  a  large  pewter 
porringer.  The  grief  and  fury  of  the  bereaved  lover 
knew  no  bounds,  lie  struck  the  old  Negro  across  the 
face  with  his  sabre,  inflicting  a  terrible  wound.  lie 
raised  such  an  outcry  that  the  other  Negroes  and  the 
town  constables  seized  him  and  dragged  him  out  of 
the  mansion  and  down  street,  and  locked  him  in  the 


Far  in 

the 
Forest 


SOUTH   MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


•u-iird  v-,  1  .a  ha  pinned  HI  Given  Castle  from  the  Cap- 
ia:;i  in  .:  -i'-zen  dilU'-em  way?;  lie  was  always  so 
\\Tiaig-:'  :^i  \\iuMi  ho  told  of  it  that  !><•  e.oukl  never  re- 
1-ea1  '  i-wiee  ahke,  .snd  in  ano:her  dozen  ways  from 

\\Lf-. •    -erv;m!>.      Fr-'jn    wnat    1    judge   to   he   the 

•  •' 

• -mx'f   vi.  r-iun  he  -uslH.'l  into  the  house  to  make  the 
jjiv!   H1    v  ith   him.  only  to  '.cam    froviv  the  old   Negro 
Syph;..'.    ••.•;•«    :u.  c  htm  at  the  fn •  >\  of  f'ne  j^real   stairs, 
>   iiii-li  w..mdei  i  u  iri.-h  ] 


tat 


,r  in  her  ooiVm.     Tin-  '/'iptain 


ni 


'id   :i  horrid  slate  of  affair^. 


one  < 


clashed  up 
lead  girl's 
When  she 
is  to  order 
vas  natur- 
ere  being 
ail  said 


\cr,  think- 

hai   t!ie  <},  .T,ised  \vas  a  ci.ild,  sent  ;i  small  coffin, 
'!  •,•    \cgr-i    c<,:i\<\    iiot.   get    the    1/ooy    ii.'to    it    full 
;'h  ..     ;r  !  ing-  knife  he  had  ml  off  her  head 
;•:   the  c(!tTin,  bin  e\-en  then  e'.mld 
\\T.ui  the  t;:|:i;i!ti  entered  the 
i-  the  coflin.  in  a  large  pe\\ter 
i«l   furv  of  the  bereaved.  lovcr 
rnek  the  old  Negro  arruss  the 
•u>!':ig  a   terrible  wound.      He 
ai  ;iu:  other  Xt-grries  and  the 
h::r.  .ind   t.lrag^tl  hhn  out  of 


i  in-  n-aiision  and    •  'v. -,  sti'cei.  .m<.i   I'.'u'ked  him  in  the 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  329 


cellar  of  the  Ihill  Hotel,  the  one  that  had  the  picture 
of  a  buffalo  on  the  signboard.  Meanwhile  the  coffin 
lid  was  clamped  down  and  the  girl  was  interred  with- 
out her  head.  The  wounded  Negro  buried  her  head 
at  the  far  end  of  the  garden,  in  her  arbor,  surrounded 
bv  her  favorite  clumps  of  box,  Irish  juniper  and  yel- 
low tea  roses.  The  Captain's  leave  running  short,  he 
had  to  return  to  the  front,  but  he  was  a  changed  man 
ever  afterwards.  If  he  was  brave  before,  he  was 
reckless  now,  and  exposed  himself  a  hundred  times, 
but  it  was  his  fate  to  live,  and  he  came  through  the  war 
without  a  scratch.  You  mav  recall,  General  St.  Clair, 
sir,  how  with  Colonel  |ohn  Kelly  he  stemmed  the 
I'rilish  advance  at  Princeton.  The  aged  General  nod- 
ded his  affirmation. 

"The  old  Xegro  whom  he  had  wounded  cherished  a 
•  'Tudi'c  against  him,  and  never  mentioned  until  on  his 
death  bel.  and  long  after  the  Captain  had  departed 
this  life,  that  the  head  had  not  been  buried  with  the 
bodv.  When  the  Captain  returned  to  Green  Castle 
V.e  heard  of  the  headless  figure  which  occasionally  was 
-ecu,  but  he  did  not  know  that  its  cause  was  the  head 
buried  at  the  far  end  of  the  garden,  lie  lived  prin- 
ci]  allv  on  his  estates  around  Casey's  Knob,  where  I 
became  his  fao'.or,  and  he  gave  me  a  chance  to  buy 
in  some  of  his  farms  on  easy  terms,  and  when  he  died 
unmarried  ten  years  after  the  war,  1  bought  most  of 
his  other  holdings  at  the  sales  held  to  close  the  estate. 
Ten  years  after  lie  died  Che  old  scar-faced  Xegro 
Syphax  stepped  out  at  the  age  of  one  hundred  and 


330  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES 


twelve ;  on  his  death-bed  he  sent  for  me  and  told  the 
story  of  how  he  could  not  close  the  coffin  with  the 
head  in  any  position,  so  had  closed  it  without  it  and 
buried  the  beautiful  Deborah  Swan  wick's  head  in  the 
garden.  I  suppose  that  I  should  halve  notified  her 
kindred,  though  she  had  no  close  relatives;  her  father, 
mother  and  brother  had  meanwhile  passed  away, 
yet  it  seemed  an  impertinence  on  my  part,  so  I  let  the 
matter  rest  where  it  was.  Of  course,  if  the  ghost  was 
persistent,  and  ruined  the  rental  value  of  the  mansion 
it  would  have  been  different,  but  it  was  only  a  periodi- 
cal haunt  as  they  say  in  these  parts,  so  I  have  let  the 
ghost  work  out  its  own  salvation.  The  whole  affair 
ruined  Captain  McClerrachain's  life,  he  became  from 
one  of  the  most  light  hearted  and  engaging  of  men. 
dour  and  taciturn,  and  refused  to  see  even  his  military 
friends,  so  that  death  was  a  relief  to  him." 

"It  is  a  most  amazing  story,"  said  the  old  High- 
lander McGarrah,  ''and  my  sympathies  are  with  the 
headless  gliost,  may  she  unite  her  head  with  her  body 
through  some  one's  kind  interposition  and  rest  quietly 
in  her  tom'b."  Suiting  the  action  to  the  word  he  drain- 
ed his  toddy  in  a  silent  toast,  just  as  the  'tall  clock  in 
the  hall  was  striking  twelve.  The  company  began  to 
show  signs  of  breaking  up  for  the  night,  and  the  fair 
Eleanor  with  a  tray  began  clearing  away  the  glasses 
and  decanters. 

Under  his  breath  the  old  Highlander  whispered  to 
his  companions  how  well  connected  the  fair  wait- 
ress was,  that  her  ne'er  do  well  father  was  responsible 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  SKETCHES  331 


for  her  not  occupying  a  higher  position  in  the  world. 
"She  could  marry,  and  marry  well,"  he  added,  "but 
she  will  not  desert  her  father,  or  the  others  of  the 
family."  "Noble  girl,"  said  General  St.  Clair,  as  he 
took  a  pinch  of  snuff  and  stood  wheezing  in  the  door- 
way. The  alert  Eleanor  handed  each  guest  a  rush- 
light, and  they  started  for  their  rooms  up  the  long, 
cold  stairs. 

The  old  Highlander  McGarrah  lingered  in  the 
kitchen  while  he  adjusted  his  plaid  shawl  preparatory 
to  going  out  into  the  storm  to  proceed  to  his  lonely 
home  down  the  valley.  "Eleanor,"  he  whispered,  uit 
was  a  great  lot  of  ghosts  that  our  friends  tonight  have 
been  telling  of.  They  may  be  the  best  ghosts  of  their 
kind  and  all  that,  but  they  do  no  one  any  good.  Let  me 
itell  you  a  secret,  my  girl.  I  have  been  seeing  a  visitor 
from  another  world  of  late.  An  old  man  dressed  in 
black  with  a  Covenanter's  hat  and  a  long  white  beard, 
and  carrying  a  staff,  has  been  walking  about  my 
orchard  and  pastures  just  at  sundown  and  dusk  every 
clear  evening.  He  is  what  some  Scotch  people  term 
a  "caller,"  but  he  is  generally  spoken  of  by  die  Irish 
as  a  Man  of  Peace.  He  is  a  spirit  that  foretells  that 
something  pleasant  is  going  to  happen,  a  joyful  change 
in  one's  life.  It  gave  me  a  thrill  when  I  first  saw  him, 
and  I  have  taken  care  never  to  disturb  him,  or  let  any 
of  my  hirelings  go  out  after  him.  It  means  only  one 
thing  to  me.  If  you  will  remember  the  story  I  told 
you,  how  the  old  sexton  at  Lochabar  spoke  of  'ghosts 
of  the  living'.  You  well  know  the  only  pleasant,  for- 


332 


tuitous  thing  that  could  happen  to  me.  It  seems  too 
good  to  he  true,  hut  'the  Man  of  Peace  has  never  vis- 
ited anyone  unless  he  brings  assurance  that  one's 
fondest  wish  is  to  be  gratified.  Some  things  in  life 
are  said  to  be  as  'irrevocable  as  death/  but  where  the 
Man  of  Peace  comes  from  there  is  a  way  of  making 
the  impossible  possible  even  ridiculously  easy.  I  feel 
that  the  great  wrong  of  my  life  is  to  be  rightel 
\Yrongs  are  only  made  to  be  righted  just  as  love  is 
made  to  last,  and  I  will  see  some  one,  in  all  the  beauty 
of  those  early  days,  and  everything  will  be  just  as  it 
was,  and  should  have  been  always." 

The  old  man  had  wrapped  and  unwrapped  his  plaid, 
dyed  with  his  Clan's  colors,  about  his  shoulders  half  a 
dozen  times.  He  was  'ois  distraught  as  a  lad  of 
eighteen  telling  of  his  first  love  affair.  As  he  threw 
open  the  door  gusts  of  cold  air  and  flurries  of  snow- 
flakes  blew  in. 

"Please  forgive  me,  Eleanor,  girl,"  he  said,  "for 
detaining  you  with  this  little  secret  adventure  of 
mine,  but  I  couldn't  help  telling  you  about  the  Man 
of  Peace.  I  want  to  keep  you  posted  up  to  date. 
Good  night." 

Me  shut  the  door  and  was  gone,  a  Ione1y  figure,  into 
the  storm. 

"Good  night,  good  luck,"  Eleanor  called  after  him 
as  she  stood  in  the  hallway,  with  the  flickering  rush- 
light in  her  hand.  "If  wrongs  are  made  to  be  righted, 
then  there  is  nothing  irrevokable  except  death." 


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